Gone For 10917207 Seconds
by casket4mytears
Summary: Set after 7X13. Time is a concrete variable that can be measured. The reality of it can be perceived differently. Booth will be counting every second until his family is back home. Old faces re-emerge. New faces join the hunt. Who can be trusted? Where will Pelant strike next? The answers will surprise and shake up the Medico-Legal Lab forever.
1. Chapter 1

**_AN: Everyone and their mother is taking a shot at continuing the seventh season finale. This is my take, which has a bit of flavour to it that I haven't seen in any other versions thus far. Spoilers up to the seventh season finale, naturally. Chapters will follow different characters in rotation (Booth, Bones, Max, Pelant, Angela, anyone else that strikes me as needing to be our eyes). _  
**

**_It's my first crack at a Bones fic. Be kind.  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

**Summary: ****Time is a concrete variable that can be measured. The reality of it can be perceived differently. Booth will be counting every second until his family is back home.**

**With Brennan and Christine on the run, the race is on to find evidence of Pelant's guilt in the murder of Ethan Sawyer before she is apprehended. With half of the team off the case and the FBI convinced of Brennan's guilt,it will take determination, savvy strategy and a belief that nothing is impossible for Booth to make good on his promise to Max.  
**

**Old faces re-emerge. New faces join the hunt. Pelant pursues his checkmate, a ticking time bomb waiting for the moment to ignite. Who can be trusted? Where will Pelant strike next? The answers will surprise and shake up the Medico-Legal Lab forever.  
**

**Rated T for violence, language and**** sexuality - may switch to M later. I'll make a note of it if I do.**_**  
**_

* * *

**485 Seconds**

The cold cement of the church steps seemed to warm beneath him as Seeley Booth sat motionless, head in hands. Minutes ago, he'd been filled with the warmth of unconditional love for his family and faith that in spite of how bleak things looked now, _He_ would see to it that his family would emerge intact.

_My family_… For so long, those words meant something else. Infrequent days on alternating weekends spent at parks and zoos before Rebecca moved continents; grilled cheese sandwiches and a callused hand tousling his hair with an affectionate nickname; phone calls in the dead of night from a cocky and self-obsessed brother – these still-frames were Booth's only home. So much had changed in the last year. He often awoke in a panicked sweat, terrified he'd find himself in that hospital room, realizing the beautiful dream was only that. His arm would flail, clinging tightly to the curves of the woman beside him, testing reality. Family now meant two children, a house and a woman whose every difference complemented him, made him whole.

This was worse than any loneliness he'd ever experienced, worse than the night he'd contemplated ending his life. This was waking death.

He glanced at his watch, wincing in pain. Ten minutes without Christine's coos and winks. Ten minutes without Bones…

_How many times do I have to watch her drive away from me?_

He was furious, but not with her. Never with her. In spite of the softening in her defenses in the last two years, he knew Bones to be a woman of reason and logic. He loved her for it. The protector in him wanted to strangle Max, wanted to scream at her for hiding her intentions, but the partner in him knew she'd made the best choice given all of the variables. Max was infuriating but Booth also knew he was right: if Pelant could manipulate the system to make a body disappear and transfer Ethan to another ward, Bones would be vulnerable in the system. He would find a way to have her committed, or find a way to place her with someone who'd finish her off behind bars. The arrest warrant was coming, and if it was anyone else in the world, he would agree that the evidence added up. Agent Flynn would want to tidy this business up quickly, write a quick report and wash his hands of it.

The only way to ensure the Squints stayed on the trail was Bones running off and staying gone until they could unweave Pelant's web.

Christine's disappearance made sense, too, even if it gutted him. She was breastfeeding, which could be adjusted for, but she was also the child of a woman scarred deeply by abandonment. Bones could barely leave their daughter in daycare; she would never leave Christine behind.

In his head, he could hear her voice, calm and steady: "_Your attention would be divided if I'd left her with you. She would be a target for Pelant to use against you. I need you to prove my innocence, for Christine's sake._"

Fourteen minutes. No more wallowing. Time for action.

Rising slowly to his feet, Booth pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Caroline's number. She would know best how to proceed from here. She also knew a great attorney he needed to hire right now, but that matter could wait. _Strategy. Know the enemy_.

"Hello?"

Her tone was brisk, yet wavering. Distraught. _Arrest warrant is out_, Booth surmised.

"Caroline, you have to help me," he blurted out quickly, allowing emotion to rise to the surface. "He's got them. They're gone."

"Cheri, slow down! Who's got who?"

Booth pictured Christine's face and sobbed. "Pelant! That son of a bitch has taken Bones and Christine! I left them alone for only a few minutes Caroline! Oh my God, this is all my fault, all my fault…"

_Technically true. Pelant's to blame for their flight_.

"What happened, Seeley? Spit it out! Did you call the police?"

"No, I called you because they're all convinced she's a killer! I don't know what happened. We decided to baptize Christine before… before they took Bones. I went around back to get the car. Someone tampered with it, so I ran back and they were gone. Her car seat's on the ground. He's got her, Caroline! Why else would they be gone? And now he's free to do whatever he wants to them!"

The frustration of watching his family leave was a useful fuel for his hysteria, Max's words ringing in his skull. He'd stay inside the system, alright. He had to look blameless. He had to be convincing.

"Give me the address and get off the phone. Call the police immediately and stay put!" Caroline was all business now, her voice firm and steady. "He's not getting away with this, no matter how many cases they try and pull me off of."

Booth agreed, solemnly rattling off the address of the church before hanging up. He entered 911 next, requesting police assistance for suspected abduction between genuine cries of grief. He'd never been one to lay himself bare, but to hell with machismo and societal bullshit. He could do this for his family. He hung up only when forced, pestering the dispatcher to hurry, asking where the police were over and over until she begged him to "sit down and try calling your wife".

His knees buckled at this mistake, his hand pressing against the wall beside him. _Would that ever happen now_? One year ago, he would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that Bones was incapable of baptizing a child, let alone marriage. But minutes ago, he'd been proven wrong. The agony of possibility extinguished in the flames of his living hell sucked the air from his lungs.

Twenty-four minutes ago, she left, his heart screaming at the sight. Now, sirens began to wail in a pathetic echo. He glanced at his phone, a picture of his girls set as the screensaver.

_I'll bring you home_, he vowed. _I will do whatever it takes_. _Believe in me, Bones._

* * *

**3059 Seconds**

"It's done."

A growl on the other end and a shuffling sound was the reply.

"The bedroom."

"I won't forget to bring home the milk. I'm busy right now, so I have to let you go."

Christopher Pelant smiled, his gloved hand replacing the receiver of the payphone. How quaint that such things still existed, even if at a premium now. Technology was his friend on most days, but at moments like these, it was a complication. Some things needed an old-school touch.

_Touch_. He chuckled to himself as he stepped out of the crowded station, inhaling deeply. _Snooze buttons are truly detrimental to a productive society_. But having one's home invaded and tossed for evidence made for a draining experience; he knew this intimately. It would be a rather long night for anyone. Who could blame a man for sleeping in?

_Sleep well_…


	2. Chapter 2

**_AN: I will normally update once per week, but felt it better to immediately get a glimpse at Bones and her perspective. _  
**

**_It's my first crack at a Bones fic. Be kind.  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

**_Lyrics belong to Poco, which any fan knows. Keep On Tryin', B&B  
_**

* * *

**22085 Seconds**

"_I've been thinkin' about all the times you held me. I never heard you shout. The flow of energy was so fine. Now I think I'll lay it on the line and keep on tryin' to get home to you_…"

She'd been singing for the last hour in a desperate bid to soothe the infant behind her. Her voice was hoarse, her cheeks stained with tears that began to fall as the adrenaline in her body depleted. She flipped absently through tracks on the MP3 player jacked into the car stereo, picking and choosing what she knew best. She'd hummed along with recordings of the Kota Tribe, mumbled her way through some pop song Angela had loaded onto her computer years ago, and had finally thrown country music on shuffle. Her father was kind to pack it for her.

Christine sniffled quietly, her weeping traded for sporadic cries of longing. They echoed Temperance's heartache. _Heart crushed._

He would never forgive her for this. Not entirely. She had walked away from him too many times, rejected him repeatedly and held him at arm's length for years. Their fledgling relationship was far too new to be stable with such a tremendous upset to its delicate balance. He was a lion, and she had taken his cub and run from him. For that alone, he would never trust her again.

It didn't matter that her father was right about the dangers of the system. It didn't matter that she knew she would be dead within days of arrest. It was of no importance that she had excluded him from her flight to protect the job he had spent his life working towards, the job he was destined to be promoted to if the Bureau had any sense of rationality. They were partners, and within that dynamic, Booth would be able to appreciate the careful analysis of vectors that had brought her to this lonely road.

As a lover, co-parent and romantic partner, she'd betrayed him in the worst possible way. She would pay the price for this.

Christine was the sole reason she'd hesitated in fleeing. When it came to her own self-preservation, disappearing was an obvious solution to her woes. Christine was a variable that complicated the equation. Booth loved her as much as she did. Booth was a wonderful father, the kind of man every child deserved doting upon him or her. But Temperance couldn't, in good conscience, become her parents. She couldn't leave Christine for an indefinite time, wondering if her mother would ever return. Infant development during the first years was critical in establishing secure attachments and the foundations of healthy relationships in adulthood. This brought her back to Booth, to the impact of a father's absence, and her mind reeled with impossible mathematics.

In the end, her father tipped the scales: "_Tempe, if you leave her here, Booth's going to be pulled in too many directions and Pelant will be able to hurt him or Christine. That computer geek bastard has no morality. She's safer with you. With us._"

She had to protect him, even if she couldn't stand beside him. She loved him more than she'd dared believe possible. Temperance once believed that she had loved before, but it didn't compare to what she shared with Booth. The chemicals were a factor, as she understood them, but even she had acknowledged that there was something more that she couldn't quite fathom when it came to genuine love. There was a deep respect between them, his reservoir of patience for her fears and quirks an endless pool in which she could sink beneath the surface and emerge clean. Brick by brick, she felt the familiar walls tumble down over the last year. Only a skeletal structure remained, and this image struck her as fitting.

She could manage bones. Understand them. Triumph over them. Maybe she would have, had she not betrayed Booth this way.

The song shifted to another by Johnny Cash and she winced. Booth loved Johnny Cash. Said he was "classic". He felt the same way about Foreigner. In her mind she was suddenly in her living room, music blasting on the speakers as Booth went into the kitchen –

_No! Don't start, Brennan. You have to keep calm_.

If she were completely honest with herself, she first began to free-fall into this unexpected love the day he'd rescued her from Kenton. She'd come to believe that it was her time, that she would be dead within minutes. She'd begun steeling herself for the pain, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an extreme reaction. And then, Booth was there: battered and in obvious pain, and yet he lifted her off the hook, held her until the shakes subsided. She'd never doubted Booth after that day, no matter what danger she found herself in. Booth would always find her. She knew this as fact, despite the lack of scientific evidence to conclusively prove her belief.

Perhaps she'd learned more about faith than she'd ever revealed to him. She'd learned a lot of things from him.

A sign flashed by, indicating her turn for US-33. Her father's GPS had been programmed and waiting for her. This route would take several more hours to drive but it avoided toll booths and freeways, which meant avoiding areas of high traffic.

_"Lay low, kid. Change your appearance quickly_."

She'd made quick work of that, stopping in a small CVS hours ago to grab a few items that would hopefully obscure her true appearance. Soon, she'd find a place to sleep, and the work would begin.

Christine whimpered, shattering her thoughts. "Hang on, sweetheart. You'll be able to nurse and nap soon," Brennan reassured her.

They were nearing a town, one with lodging at a nearby exit. Perhaps it was time to find a place and rest. The next two days would involve a great deal of driving and speeding wasn't an option to make up for time. That would be calling attention to herself. Weary, she turned off at the next right, scanning the streets for promised motels, seeking an ideal target.

_Chain… Chain…. Expensive… Wait._

Just like her father had insisted: a "Mom and Pop" motel. The kind that doesn't pay attention to ID and takes cash. Relieved, Temperance parked near the rear and crawled into the backseat. Christine immediately brightened, the lack of visual stimulation apparently a large factor in her fussiness. Temperance pawed through her bag of supplies, tugging free an obnoxious hair tie and a Flyers cap.

"Obscure the features," she told herself.

_And lose the fancy talk_, she added silently. That would be unpleasant to maintain for the long-term. How would she best manage that? Pulling her hair back into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, she smiled. _The Jersey Shore documentary_! She would simply pretend to be from their culture.

Cap on, she pulled Christine – _no, Chris_ – from her seat. Cradling her against her chest, she fought the urge to weep. _I haven't spent a night apart from Booth in over a year_. Brennan sensed that the hours would feel longer than their quantifiable measure.

What was Booth doing now? Had he realized what she'd done? Had he reported her to the authorities? She certainly hoped he had, as it would be the most expedient way for him to assure the FBI that he was still obeying the law. Had they searched their home and found some other damning piece of evidence, courtesy of Pelant?

That last point was rather likely. He'd remained ahead of them at every stage of this sick game he enjoyed playing. Why fall behind now?

Christine began to fuss and Brennan knew her time was up. She ditched her jacket in the backseat and opened the top three buttons of her blouse, revealing a plain black camisole beneath it. _That will have to do for tonight. _She made her way across the parking lot with her purse in hand, reminding herself to be confident and speak the dialect of Jersey. The young woman at the counter was staring at a small TV set, her demeanor suggesting annoyance or boredom.

"S'up," Brennan said casually, adjusting Christine on her right shoulder. "I need a room."

"How many nights?" The young woman didn't even look up.

"One. Gotta jam early." Her tone mimicked one of the more popular subjects of the Jersey people, a "Snooki".

The teenager finally glanced up, her face a blank slate. "It's sixty bucks a night, one bed, coffee in the room. How you wanna pay?"

"Cash." Brennan dug into the envelope in her purse and extracted three twenties quickly.

"Fill this out," the teenager said, thrusting a half-page at her and taking the cash to a drawer behind her.

No ID check. This was a boon. Brennan reached for the pen attached to the counter.

_Name. _She'd already thought of that one in advance. Planting a soothing kiss on her child's forehead, she wrote down the address of Agent Andy Lister from her books, grateful for her meticulous attention to details in outlining her characters. She switched her birth date to Booth's year and her mother's date for good measure. Under other occupants, she put down her infant son Christopher, listing "his" age as Michael's instead. It was prudent, she reasoned, to obfuscate the truth at all turns.

She handed the card back to the teen casually, exchanging it for a set of keys on a large plastic tag marked "201". With a perfunctory scan, the teenager filed the card away.

"Okay Ms. Parker, just head out that door, take a left up the stairs. Room's at the end."

"Thanks."

Not caring to test her luck further, Brennan made quick work of departing without breaking into a full-out run. Her father had packed clothing for them while Booth was arranging the baptism, hopefully something comfortable and less conspicuous than her current attire. Grabbing the bag from the trunk and retrieving her purchases of the day, she retreated to her room. She sighed as light flooded the dingy room.

"It's healthy for children to be exposed to germs," she reminded herself.

_Not so much for adult women with seventeen hours of driving ahead of them._

Christine needed a change and feeding and Temperance took care of these tasks before setting her down for a nap on the bed. Drained, she toted her bags to the bathroom and found herself transfixed by the mirror.

_The lies are too easy._ It made her nauseous to consider how much she was like her parents now. She could attribute it to hormonal changes induced by motherhood, at least in part, but it didn't sit right with her.

_No time for morality and philosophy. The facts dictate that I must change my appearance. _

She used the scissors first, gathering her hair into two ponytails, one on each side of her head. It was a trick her mother had employed in her youth for quick trims. Twisting the ends together, she took an inch off each side, allowing the new layers to fall beside her face. Her hair gently tapered now from front to back, but she was still distinctly Temperance. Two more inches each side, and she was left with a chin-length style. _Better_.

The hair colour was a "black cherry", meaning an incredibly dark red bordering on black, as best as she could infer from the pictures. She prepared the mixture quickly, uneasy with leaving her daughter (_son?_) unattended. Ignoring the directions, she worked large dollops into her hair like shampoo, saturating her locks efficiently. Her scalp itched but it was worth the time and energy conserved.

She turned next to clothing, grateful to her father's common sense. Two pairs of jeans, one sweater, two tank tops, bras, panties and socks. It should bother her that her father had touched intimate garments, yet she was merely grateful for his aid. For Christine, he'd packed tiny pants and shirts in gender-neutral colours.

She timed the twenty minutes carefully, rinsing her hair in the sink. Inky water flowed down the drain as she strained her neck beneath the faucet, cupping her hands for water. She used her blouse in lieu of a towel – no sense being memorable and her more formal attire would be inappropriate for the journey ahead.

With a trembling hand, she extracted a pair of reading glasses from her bag, the kind that required no prescription. She'd chosen the lowest magnification to spare her eyes damage, although they were merely a ploy for stores and rest stops. Nestling the thin rims on the bridge of her nose, she stared at her reflection in disbelief.

Her features were paler by contrast, the blush drained from her cheeks. Her eyes – one of her more memorable features – were less prominent thanks to the reflective glare of the cheap lenses. The hair was foreign and frightening, but presentable as a legitimate style someone might request deliberately.

She'd succeeded where Heather Taffet had failed: she'd buried Temperance Brennan alive - and killed her.

"Hello, Angie Parker," she whispered.

_Forgive me, Booth. Please…_


	3. Chapter 3

**_AN: Writing's moving fast on this one, so I'll post more right now. Hooray for fic to distract us from work/school/life/hiatuses that feel like years!_  
**

**_Stay tuned at the bottom for another AN re: where we're heading.  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**7080 Seconds**

The foundation was always critical in any enterprise. Max Brennan told anyone this when asked about the key to success. Without the proper footing beneath you, it was impossible to run/jump/rob anyone. You needed to launch from solid ground to reach the stars.

Tempe was an amateur, but she had her dad as the bricklayer, so it wouldn't matter. She took instructions well, just like her mother, and that was all he needed to buy her safety. It was risky, but they had a failsafe in place.

For now, Max was riding to Dulles International Airport in a cab paid for with one of Tempe's credit cards. Once there, he would purchase two seats to Montreal with the internet kiosks before ditching her ID in a trash bin near the appropriate checkpoint. Next, it was the bus terminal, where he would use her secondary card to purchase seats to California.

By the time that Agent Flynn character went prying, he'd have three avenues to explore, none of them accurate. He'd already purchased train tickets to New York.

Max wasn't a stupid man. The system was predictable, its investigations routine in these matters. Once Tempe was determined to be in flight, they would slap her picture on the news, toss her on the no-fly list, and follow her money. They would also follow him, which was why he'd be purchasing a ticket of his own for a flight to Buffalo. He wanted them to follow the scent to Canada, to believe she'd fled the borders of their country. The coordination with the RCMP would add a layer of complexity that would keep them chasing their tails for a few days.

By then, Tempe would have a new name and perhaps a new face, although he doubted she'd agree to that.

He passed the Visa to the cab driver as they drew to a halt at the Departures level, the man scanning the card without a thought and passing the receipt to Max. He signed a looping version of Tempe's signature, studied from receipts in her wallet. Stress could shift a signature enough to fool a casual observer. Max knew this, and counted on it. With quick thanks, he stepped out into the evening air, inhaling deep to steady himself.

Three days. He would be taking an alternate route to their meeting place, but it would be a lengthy journey all the same. The second place, the failsafe, was their ultimate destination, although he preferred to have it as a refuge to run to after the initial heat of the hunt. His one regret was being unable to contact Russ but Max couldn't put that risk on his son, not with the girls depending on him. For all of his failings, Max finally understood what fatherhood meant – and what ripping a family apart could do.

He winced, remembering Seeley Booth's face outside the church. He was a good man – perhaps the only man worthy of his daughter – but he was being tested. He could see the love he had for Tempe and Christine. Surely he would eventually understand that this was the only way to protect them. Surely he wouldn't blame Tempe.

_This was my idea, Booth. Remember that. Hate me. Kill me. But not until it's safe for them to come home_.

He was a fast thinker, a strategist. Whatever he told the authorities, Max hoped it would buy time to set up the chess board and make that first move.

Max made quick work of his ticket purchases before hailing a cab back into the city. He wrapped up Tempe's card and half her ID in a Wet Nap then dropped it into the garbage by the security screening entrance. He flagged his next cab for Union Station, paying cash on arrival before hurrying to purchase the bus tickets.

Just over two hours now. He wagered that any minute, there would be media alerts issued on world-renowned author Temperance Brennan. Out of courtesy for her notoriety, they would give her that long. Thirty minutes was all he needed until he would be vanishing himself.

Traffic was mercifully minimal, bringing him back quickly to Union Station. The double-tracking was necessary: he needed the airport trail established early, as it would be checked first in a flight scenario. Besides, it had given his associate time to prepare for Max's needs.

Speaking of, a familiar man was waiting near the ticket counter when Max approached. A subtle nod of his head indicated that Max should abort and follow, which he did without hesitation. Their strides matched up around the corner, en route to a nearby lot.

"Bought them for you," he said. "Media's already got her. Looking for you, too."

"Fuck," Max cursed quietly. "I was hoping to avoid that for a few more hours."

"Don't matter. Car's ready. Take that to Toledo. Second car with the documents will be waiting, along with the cash. This one'll be cubed once you're gone."

Max nodded gratefully. Tommy was a good friend from the old days, a reliable partner for long cons when a woman wouldn't do. He'd gone pretty straight but the code of ethics between criminals was life-long.

"I'm gonna call in the anonymous tip in ten minutes. Say you asked for directions to Jersey. If they're gonna hunt you, let's turn 'em loose."

Max caught sight of the black Honda Civic ahead, his keen eyesight detecting the keys in the ignition. Tommy pressed the remote unlock in his pocket, shrugging his shoulders.

"Thanks, Tom. If I have any messages, I'll contact the usual messenger pigeons."

Tommy nodded, well aware of the routine. "Good luck."

Max slipped behind the wheel of the Civic, cursing its lack of leg room as he adjusted the mirrors. Turning the key, he was grateful for the full tank of gas and Red Bull on the passenger seat. He would be driving all night to reach his destination, and purchases would have to wait until the late hours and another state.

_Let the chase begin_.

He pulled out into the street, making several quick turns before honing in on his route of choice. The radio was on now, tuned in to local news. As Tempe's name popped up, Max was surprised by the details.

"The FBI has released no further information about the disappearance of author and forensic Anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennan. What we do know is that a missing persons report has been filed on her and her six-month-old daughter, Christine Booth. Inside sources suggest that Dr. Brennan was about to be arrested in the murder of Ethan Sawyer. The FBI is also interested in speaking to Max Brennan, whom listeners may recall was acquitted of the murder of Deputy FBI Director Robert Kirby in 2008. The public is asked to contact police if they have any information on the whereabouts of Dr. Brennan, her father or her daughter."

Max smirked. _Booth reported her missing_. Probably played up Pelant as the reason for it. If the police had enough evidence to suspect that it was plausible, their attention would be divided between Tempe and Pelant. It would buy her time to clear the area and hopefully change her appearance.

"Stay in the system, Booth," he thought aloud. "Stay in it, and fuck with them."

* * *

**9000 Seconds**

"Third District dispatch."

"Um yeah, I heard on the news that you're looking for Max Brennan?"

The woman on the other end hesitated. "Do you have information sir?"

"Yeah, I do. Who's in charge?"

"One moment, I'll transfer you."

Tommy rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall. _The cell's not traceable, lady. Don't bother_.

A man was now on the line, his voice gruff and hoarse. Chain smoker, Tommy figured.

"Sargeant Wurtz. You have information pertaining to Max Brennan?"

"Yeah," Tommy replied calmly. "I just got home and saw the news. I saw him in the gas station around the corner, asking for maps. Drove off in a beige sedan."

"And you're certain this man was Max Brennan?"

The excitement was palpable in the stupid pig's voice. Tommy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, 'course I'm sure. Buddy was up on murder charges before. Big case. Face kinda stands out."

Scribbling noises. Sixty seconds before the trace yielded evidence of a burn phone.

"Did you see what map he bought?"

"Think he said Jersey? Not sure."

Thirty-five seconds.

"Thank you, sir, for calling this in. What was the address of the gas station?"

"Oh no, I'm not gonna have a media circus on me. No way. Fuck that."

Tommy hung up. Four seconds to spare. Wiping it clean, he tossed the phone into a nearby garbage can, mindful of the janitor approaching in the distance. _Trace that, cops_.

Head down, he slid into the throng of commuters, vanishing in plain sight.

* * *

_**ENDNOTE: Because no one wants to read 126 chapters (do they?), just a heads up: after the first few days, the time jumps will increase significantly. I'm seeing about a 30 chapter finish line here, give or take, spanning from finale through what would, in my head, be the season 8 premiere. There are a few twists and turns that others will, like me, expect from TPTB or want to see, but there will also be my own fun moments and theories on how it all could go down.  
**_

_**For those who don't know my fic style, I love to do research, so expect to see some factual work on computers, artificial intelligence and predictions of human behaviour, as well as viable answers as to what Pelant's done and HOW. Will they be the official answers? Guess we'll see.**_

_**Please review, even just to say hi and thanks for posting! Being new to this fandom in terms of fic, I'm actually finding stories to read via your profiles. If nothing else, you're hooking me up with a B&B fix. Thanks for reading!**_

_**Next chapter: Booth, Hodgela and a little flashback B&B...  
**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_AN: I have had a week that was beyond busy! I've been covering a local music festival, which has meant 17 hour days, blogging on fumes, arranging interviews with directors and singers... Yeesh! Another festival begins Friday, so I have a few days to make some magic happen. How about a chapter or two?  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**21604 Seconds**

There was no way in hell that he was sleeping in the house tonight.

After several hours of interrogation – during which it became apparent that Agent Flynn didn't buy a word of what Booth said, even the factual statement that he had no idea where Bones had gone with their daughter – he returned to the house, where he found himself reminded of the condition of it when he'd first purchased it at the police auction.

Every computer was confiscated, every room turned upside down by a team of FBI investigators and agents. His only consolation was picturing Bones critiquing their techniques in that blunt, unabashed way that only she could make endearing. All of her clothes had been taken in pursuit of trace evidence. Several textbooks were carted away by a sheepish and apologetic Agent Shaw as he pulled up the driveway. Booth took note of her empathy; she might prove an ally while he was suspended. For all of her hero worship of him, she was a competent young agent who meant well and was eager to learn. She was also capable of a critical eye and open mind.

The mess would be tolerable if he weren't so utterly alone. Without her, without Christine, there was an emptiness he couldn't ignore. Ghosts in his memory smiled as he moved from room to room.

He was effectively homeless.

Grabbing a quick bag of belongings, he'd phoned Angela, who was in tears and scarcely coherent. Enough was exchanged that he headed over to their home, where a drained Hodgins opened the door.

"Ange is putting Michael down," he said quietly, stepping aside. "She'll want to talk to you if you're up to it."

"Doesn't that put you in a bad spot?" Booth asked.

"Hasn't stopped Angela, has it?" Hodgins shrugged. "In the lab, I follow the evidence, no matter how much I hate it. At home, I'm her husband, and Brennan's a friend."

"Just don't compromise yourself, okay?" Booth sighed, settling onto one of their leather couches. "I need someone on her side still working the evidence."

Jack nodded with a grim expression. "Which is why I won't show you what we found in Ethan's room. Tell, not show. In fact, I'll let Angela tell you so I have plausible deniability. You need a drink?"

"Water's fine."

Jack met Angela in the hall, kissing her cheek before moving on to the kitchen. Her hair was drawn back in a messy ponytail, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. Upon seeing Booth, she threw herself at him, hugging him tightly.

"Oh my God sweetie, I can't believe she left you!" Angela sobbed. "Did you have any idea?"

"I should have," Booth admitted. "I should have stepped outside of my heart and remembered how logical Bones can be. Did she say anything to you?"

Angela shook her head. "Nothing about leaving. She did sound… emotional. We were on the phone right before the christening and she seemed like she was saying goodbye. I didn't think anything of it because of the warrant."

Booth nodded. "Yeah. She said goodbye to me too, but I didn't realize it."

The vulnerability in her voice, the fear in her eyes… she'd known what she was about to do. She'd known and made a point of declaring her love for him. It was so rare when she said those words aloud, but each time she did, Booth's heart sang.

"_I love you, Booth. I don't want you to think that Christine is the only reason we're together_."

He'd never thought that, not once. All the same, it had meant the world to hear it.

"Booth? You okay?" As he glanced up, Angela shook her head. "Of course you're not okay. But are you tired? This could wait until morning –"

"No. No, it's fine."

Hodgins returned with two glasses of water, one rimmed with lime. Passing the glasses to them, he settled into the adjoining couch with a grimace.

"Does Pelant have Dr. B?"

Booth hesitated. "I don't know."

_They could be bugged. Hodgins would never tolerate it, but it was still possible_. He made a gesture of writing with a pen and Hodgins immediately understood. He passed a small notebook and pen from his pocket to Booth.

"Have the police done anything?"

"The usual. I told them about my car being tampered with, and how Bones and Christine were gone when I ran back to the front of the church. With him off house arrest, there's no telling where he's been, and with the search warrant executed, it's impossible to know if she was taken home."

He flashed the pad to Hodgins and Angela, allowing them to read it.

_I don't know where she is. She's fled. I saw her driving away when I ran around._

Hodgins understood completely. "So now we have a murder case and a missing persons case, as well as an arrest warrant?"

"Exactly. The FBI's running traces on Bones' cards and trying to track her cell, but they won't tell me anything. I just know that they don't have a clue what's happened."

"Well, you can stay with us as long as you need to," Angela assured him. "I can't imagine trying to clean the house alone. Did you want me to take care of that?"

"Don't stress yourself, Angela. Concentrate on the evidence. Speaking of, I heard that they found something in Ethan's room?"

He flashed the pad again.

_Don't show it to me or give me details. I'll pretend I overheard it at the bureau._

"Yeah man, there was a strange code, in a triangle just like Dr. B. said. It almost looked like a bell curve without the tails. He wrote it in his own saliva. Haven't a clue what it means."

Angela sighed, sipping her water. "Yet one more code the Angela-tron needs to crack. Not that I'm much having luck with anything else. Great, I know there's some sort of code within the library books. I can't prove what it does, though."

"One step at a time, Ange," Hodgins insisted, reaching for her hand. "We handle each piece of the puzzle until we figure it out. We always do."

Booth forced a smile for Angela's sake. "That's why you Squints are the best: you don't give up or settle for easy answers."

"Bren wouldn't have it any other way," Angela said wistfully.

They sat in silence, each struggling to reconcile the events of the last few days with their years of shared history. There had been threats to their lives before: kidnappings, shots fired, bombs. They'd struggled with solving cases where the evidence was scarce. But to have one of their own be the prime suspect – Bones, of all people – was daunting. It was almost enough to rock Booth's faith in the system.

Almost.

"So what's the plan tomorrow?" Hodgins asked.

"The Squints keep squinting, while I harass the agents looking for Bones and Christine into doing a better job," Booth replied firmly, scribbling on the pad and handing it over. "I'll make sure they've got Pelant under surveillance until they can prove my family's safe."

_Her absence leaves the investigation open, meaning you can continue to pursue the evidence whether Flynn likes it or not. Use the time wisely._

Hodgins wrote a message of his own: _What's the likelihood we're bugged?_

"Very tired all of a sudden," Booth said, stressing the first word.

Angela and Hodgins took the hint. _I'll have my security team sweep the place tomorrow while we're at work. This will be our safe haven, Booth_.

"Did you want me to show you to your room?" Angela asked. Her trembling hands contradicted her steady voice.

"Please. Again, thanks for letting me stay here tonight."

Angela led him down the hall, past a room with a large blue treble clef on the door, to another that stood open. Inside, a king bed was made up with a comforter and a mountain of pillows, the sheets turned down.

"The bathroom is next door and there's plenty of towels in the linen closet. I'm usually up with Michael by seven making breakfast. I'll make extra for you if –"

"You don't have to 'Mommy' me, Angela."

"Sweetie? Shut up."

They shared a soft chuckle as Booth tossed his bag on the floor. _This was the right choice_, Booth thought. Angela understood his pain. She'd always understood him, right from the very first case they'd worked together. It was unnerving how easily she'd seen through him. She'd known he was in love with Bones long before he'd admitted it to himself.

"Get some sleep," she insisted earnestly. "You need to be at full Booth strength to help Bren."

"I'll try."

Angela's hand grazed his arm in a gesture of comfort as she headed for the door. Pausing with the knob in hand, a wave of anger rolled over her visage.

"I can't wait to watch this fucker go down," she growled before shutting the door.

_Me neither, Angela_.

He changed quickly, stripping out of his suit and changing into a worn Flyers t-shirt and sweatpants. The shirt choice was deliberate: it was the one Bones had borrowed the night she'd confessed that she was pregnant; Booth had insisted she come home with him afterwards. They'd been inseparable since. Sliding under the cool silk sheets, his mind drifted back to the night everything had changed.

* * *

**2011**

She sobbed quietly against his shirt, fingers fisted in the threadbare cotton. His arms wrapped protectively around her, shielding her from a world that was far too cruel for a woman with so much love for humanity and life itself. He rested his chin atop her head, fingers tangling lightly in her hair, willing his heart to steady itself.

Vincent's death had gutted them both, but he had to be strong for her sake. It was the cost of Bones releasing her imperviousness, as she called it, and choosing strength instead. In letting the world in, she had relinquished some of her compartmentalizing capacity.

"He shouldn't have died," she murmured against his chest. "He didn't deserve to die."

"No, he didn't. If I hadn't handed him the phone –"

Her head rose quickly, anger flashing in her eyes. "Don't you dare say it, Booth. Don't you think it."

"Bones, Broadsky –"

"Is going down, the rat bastard that he is. But don't sit here and tell me I should be crying for you, instead. That's not rational. It's not an alternative. Not after the last time I believed you were…" She rested her head against his heart, sighing deeply.

Booth remained silent, forcing himself to not voice his guilt. It would hurt her; he knew her well enough to appreciate that reaction. Vincent's blood was on his hands all the same, and tomorrow, he intended to find Broadsky and finish this twisted game of cat and mouse he'd been forced into.

"Booth?"

"Yeah Bones?"

"You know that logically, it's not your fault, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"No one blames you, Booth. Except you." Her voice was softened with trepidation. "I don't mean to dismiss your emotions in any way or hurt you. I just want you to know that we're all grateful for you."

"Huh? How so?"

A young man was dead because he'd answered a call meant for the bossy FBI agent beside him. He'd obeyed, as all the Squinterns did, and he'd been struck down in seconds.

"This case… It's personal. Everyone's terrified, no matter what they say. You can see it in people. Having travelled to the places I've been, having seen worlds where people live in constant fear, you can sense it. I can label it pheromone secretions, body chemistry, but it's still fear. You keep us moving forward. You look out for us." She hesitated, her voice scarcely a whisper. "You're the glue holding us together."

"We're the centre, Bones. _We_. The only reason I'm holding it together is you."

His lips pressed lightly against the top of her head, his mind whirring with scenarios. If Bones had taken that call from Broadsky… He couldn't think of it. Couldn't picture her hitting the floor, her blood seeping out onto the pristine floors of the Jeffersonian lab. To protect her, he needed to keep his head in the game.

"You need to get some rest," he told her. "Keep your mind sharp."

"Oh."

She sounded upset, which only confused Booth. _Maybe she thinks I'm treating her like a child_.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do, Bones. I just worry. You know how I am."

She pushed up, her head bowed. "I'll go back out to the couch –"

"No, don't." The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them.

She frowned, shaking her head. "But you just said I should sleep. I assumed that was your way of telling me to leave your bedroom."

He clung to her tightly, acutely aware of how desperately he needed to be near her tonight. Vincent had been haunting him beneath his eyelids for the last few hours, begging Booth to save him. The moment they'd sprawled back onto his bed, a faint peace crept into his head. The voices were quieter with her near.

"I'd only meant that… Shit, Bones…" How could he say this without scaring her?

_I'm not angry anymore. Not with us. I need you_.

"Booth? I don't understand."

"You can stay. I mean, if you want to stay. Here."

She remained motionless, her brow furrowed as if calculating costs and benefits of an investment. She was weighing her data. It was one of his favourite facial expressions of hers, if only because of the astounding genius at work beneath.

When she spoke, it was with trepidation. "I would prefer to stay, if that's okay with you. I don't want to impose."

"You're never an imposition, Bones," he whispered, shifting his body to make more room for her. "Never."

Her legs swung up fully onto the bed, although she remained in his arms, cradled against his left side. Her body tensed up, however, and that worried him. Had he made a poor choice in asking her to stay? Was she erecting those walls of hers again? It had seemed like they were drawing closer to finally taking a shot at being together.

"You okay?"

"Mmhmm."

She didn't sound okay. _Crap_. His fingers reached for her chin, tilting her face to meet his gaze. Her beautiful eyes were stormy, dark circles ringing them. She bit her lip briefly, shifting her expression to something more neutral as he noticed.

"Talk to me," he whispered. "What is it?"

In answer, she shifted towards him and pressed her lips to his.

Caught off guard, he froze briefly before melting into the kiss. It was softer than he'd imagined – and he imagined the moment when they would get their shit together often – but sensual and subtly needy. Her tongue grazed his lower lip, tasting him, and Booth shuddered involuntarily. And yet, uncertainty nagged him at the back of his skull.

"Bones," he murmured breathlessly as he pulled back. "Are you sure about this?"

"Why? Don't you – I mean, I thought we…" She was visibly flustered now. "I'm sorry. I must have misread your recent behavior."

"No, wait!" She pushed against his chest, trying to break free, but he refused to release her. "I do. God, I do. I just need to know that you won't regret anything in the morning."

A tear slid down her cheek and he cursed himself for making her shed it.

"Regrets are what I'm tired of, Booth!" Her hand reached out for him, only to fall back to his side. "I could have lost you today –"

"I'm okay –"

"Don't cut me off. You know how hard it is for me to talk about emotional matters," she chided him. "I could have lost you. Again. You've been shot, kidnapped, blown up, struck… You've flown into a war zone for months. Do you know how difficult that was for me? It was how I knew when I came back that I'd made a mistake in rejecting you. I'd dreamed every night of you dying and woke up in tears."

She'd dreamed of him? She'd never spoken of this before.

"So lying here, realizing how close I came to watching you die again, it occurred to me that all fears, all insecurities and doubts are irrational. I'm a rational woman, Booth. We work dangerous jobs. Each day could be our last. Life is so incredibly fragile. I cannot change these facts and I would never change your profession or my own. Rationally, if I am both unwilling for our jobs to change and am tired of regrets, I must stop doing the same thing over and over, running around like a quail with my head cut off."

"Chicken," he corrected quietly, smiling.

"I know that. I enjoy being corrected by you because you enjoy correcting me."

Booth grinned. "I do enjoy it."

"You're interrupting and I'm digressing. The point is this: if Broadsky comes along tomorrow and takes you from me, I don't want to regret never taking the risk of being broken. I don't want to regret shutting you out when clearly, you've proven that you accept me and all of my flaws and fears. I'm strong now. I'm ready. I made the appropriate overture to express that."

She inhaled deeply, the rapid-fire delivery of her speech apparently emptying her lungs. Her eyes were closed, as if afraid of what she might find written on his face. _Afraid of being rejected_.

"Bones?"

"Booth?"

"Kiss me again."

Their lips crashed together, the energy frenetic. He felt her shift over him, straddling his hips as their tongues found better things to do than talk. His hands gripped her hips, nestling her over his arousal and her moaned response only fuelled his want. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, steadying her weight above him as she broke away, nipping and kissing his neck.

"Jesus, Bones!"

"Isn't it against the rules of your religion to take the name of your deity's child in vain?" she asked coyly.

"This is worth being damned."

She ground her hips down against him, the straining against his pants now painful. He'd always intended for their first time to be an expression of how much she meant to him. He wanted to show her that she deserved love and adoration. She was worth it to him. But the tension of the case and the feel of her skin as he slid his hands beneath her shirt conspired against him. When she hooked her hands beneath her t-shirt and tugged it over her head, tossing it against the wall and revealing her bare breasts, he gave up. With a swift motion, he rolled on top of her, balancing his weight against his arms.

"I promise I will take my time for round two, but I'm going to lose my mind," he whispered.

She hissed as he pressed against her, nodding enthusiastically. "Round two."

Clothes were yanked and tugged away, the two of them half-sitting in a frantic race to nudity. It was she who pulled him abruptly on top of her, lining herself up perfectly. As he slid inside of her, their lips met lightly.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"My paper. The ones we burned for your spell."

He remembered what he'd written on his paper, confident by way of studying her writing motions and determining she'd written an actual date as opposed to "never in a million years". He'd gone for something simple: "What she said." Booth had learned his lesson from the last time he'd tried to push her into taking the leap. This had to be on her terms, at her pace.

"What about it, Bones?"

"Today. I wrote down today's date."

He kissed her hard, heart pounding as she matched his intensity. He slid halfway out of her before pausing to lean in by her ear.

"So did I," he confessed before slamming into her, earning a loud cry of pleasure.

* * *

**24904 Seconds**

Booth fought the urge to cry, hugging a pillow to his chest as he rolled over and stared at the wall. _It wasn't enough time_, he thought sadly. _This can't be the end. I have to bring them home_. He'd fought too damn long and hard to break through her defenses and finally have the life he wanted. No one was going to take that from him.

He'd kill them first.

* * *

_**Thanks to those who've reviewed so far! You're wonderful people. Please review, even just to say hi and thanks for posting! Being new to this fandom in terms of fic, I'm actually finding stories to read via your profiles. If nothing else, you're hooking me up with a B&B fix. Thanks for reading!**_


	5. Chapter 5

**_AN: Thanks so much for the kind words so far! I know a lot of us are taking a shot at the interlude post-season 7 and I hope that as things unfold, my story offers something just a little different... or a lot. I can't predict what others will do.  
_**

**_Speaking of, check my favourite stories for the ones I'm enjoying! Love, love, love all the perspectives (especially Flynn hatred!).  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**79211 Seconds**

Angela was trying very, _very_ hard not to kill anyone.

Her goals for the day were simple: continue to catalogue and contain the virus codes in the library books; check for any connections to the coded mathematical saliva in Ethan's room; and try to avoid getting kicked off the case.

However, waiting for her at the lab were Agents Flynn and Shaw, primed for an interrogation on Brennan's whereabouts. Ninety minutes of bullshit questions she couldn't answer or saw no relevance in without her morning coffee made for an incredibly cranky Angela. She'd forced herself to resist the urge to tell Flynn to shove his precious legal pad of notes up his clenched sphincter, opting instead to press him on saving her kidnapped best friend and her infant daughter. By the end, the exchange had come down to a cycle:

"So you're telling us you have no idea where Temperance Brennan is?"

"My only idea is that the person who's framing her for murder probably finds this convenient. Speaking of, have you been trying to find her? What about her debit cards? Maybe she's been robbed."

"You were the last person to speak with her, aside from Seeley Booth."

"Yeah, and I was telling her that I would stand by her no matter what happened. That's what friends do, Agent Flynn. Do you have any friends?"

From her grilling, Angela had slammed into her office and begun scanning the library books still stacked in piles, although she soon found even that wasn't possible to complete. Cam tore through the lab demanding evidence for Agent Flynn, including the recreation of Ethan's murder. With a grimace and Caroline Julian's words fresh in her mind, she reluctantly put the simulation up on the screen, saving a file to flash drive for the FBI.

Jack had then stormed into her office, having experienced his own taste of the _Flynnterrogation_, as she was now calling it. To stop him from poisoning the man with several nasty parasites from the lab, they'd gone for lunch at a café around the corner, noting that Flynn and Shaw were at the Royal. Still frustrated, they'd found one of their usual corners without cameras and had a quick angry romp before returning to work.

And now, Angela was still scanning books, trying to make sense of the code. Having learned from the "bone virus" experience, she'd hooked the scanner into a separate hard drive detached from the Angela-tron. Thus far, she could see that something wasn't right about the code, but it hadn't come together in any way that made sense.

"Okay Angela, think harder. Figure out the mechanics. Figure out the whys and hows," she grumbled. "This has to find a way to hook into the internet to replicate and spread. But how? And what does it do when it gets there?"

Another book scanned. Normal. Setting it aside, she picked up a book about chess and scanned it. The screen immediately flooded with incomprehensible symbols and text before shutting down the copy of the library software. A small black box popped up and she immediately recognized it: the Command Prompt. A flurry of command lines streamed down the box before Angela could disconnect the computer from the internet. What she found in the last few lines terrified her.

**Website SSL serial Number - Server IP - (apache)**

**Lookup for A records of **  
**Host - .**  
**TTl - 25500**  
**A answer- **  
**Site Etag : 098l-4zp91l95h7200 **

**Richard G. Lockhart**  
**UPS tracking number - 1Z 450 991 90 9411 023 1**  
**Email ID : richardglockh12 **  
**Password - GehhUBq771g9V**

Her trembling fingers saved the screen image to clipboard while she launched the built-in Paint program. Saving to file, she leaned her head out of her office, scanning the platform for her husband. No luck.

"Damn it!"

Her cell phone was immediately in hand as she continued to stare in disbelief at the screen. In her head, she could hear Pelant laughing.

"Ange?"

"Get in here right now. Don't tell anyone."

"Okay, okay."

Hanging up, she dialed Booth's phone next, certain he would want to know of this find. As her husband entered, she shushed him, gesturing to the books and then the screen. Within seconds, Jack's eyes widened, his face crimson with rage.

A weary voice answered her call. "Booth."

"Sweetie, we need to talk ASAP. Meet me at the restaurant we stole from you."

She hung up immediately, fearing bugs planted in her device. Their home was being swept as they worked, and new phones would be waiting for them upon their arrival home. In the meantime, she had to play it safe.

"Dude!" Hodgins exclaimed.

"Yeah."

"The books did this?"

Holding up the book she'd just scanned, Angela replied, "It would seem this was the ultimate execute file of Pelant's special program."

Examining the rear cover, Hodgins rolled his eyes. "Of course. Deep Blue."

"Um sweetie, the book's black."

"No Ange, Deep Blue. Chess-playing computer that defeated Garry Kasparov in 1997. Artificial Intelligence," Jack explained, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What does this mean, aside from the obvious 'stealing the G-Men logins' business?"

He turned to Angela, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Sweets would say this is Pelant's idea of being funny, given the choice of book, but it also tells us something we already know. Pelant's a chess master. A strategist when it comes to crime. He's thought ahead every single move."

"Caroline said the same thing. She said he'd counted on us to do what we'd done, except Cam. As much as it sickens me to say it, I have to agree that Cam's made all the right choices, if only because they're not the ones this bastard thought of."

She buried her face in his lab coat, comforted by the faint scent of algae, chemicals and his cologne. This Pelant guy's intelligence terrified her, if only because he somehow seemed smarter than Brennan. After all, he'd found a way to frame her for this murder with a pile of circumstantial evidence. She'd run from the system she believed in so completely. How were they a match for him if Brennan couldn't find the chink in his techno-armor?

"What do we do with this?" Angela asked quietly. "Will Flynn care?"

"I don't know," Jack replied, kissing her forehead. "Talk to Booth. See what he thinks Pelant won't expect us to do, then do that."

She hesitated, staring at the pile of fifty books not yet scanned. "There's more code here."

"Then we keep following the evidence until we find all of the nails for that son of a bitch's coffin," Jack insisted angrily. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go tie up Cam with my particulates while you go see Booth. Take a back up of _that_ with you, lest someone tampers with it."

Angela's heart skipped. "You don't think –"

"Inside job? C'mon Ange. It's me. And _that_ –" He paused, gesturing to the screen. "— looks like a bright, shiny tool for blackmail."

Angela's fingers trembled as she backed up the code and screenshot to her external drive. If Jack was right… Of course he was right. They'd always known that something was incredibly wrong when it came to Pelant. His ankle monitor never registered a violation and yet people were dead. That reporter's body had been shuffled from one place to another before eventual cremation. Pelant didn't have an internet connection, and there was no way to ensure that his book codes would be scanned in a timely fashion to coordinate with the murder of Ezra Krane unless…

_Since when did my life become a bad Hollywood blockbuster_?

Jamming the drive into her purse, she slipped out of the Jeffersonian for her rendezvous with Booth. Maybe he could tell her that Hodgins was being paranoid and conspiracy theory zealous again. Maybe Jack wasn't right.

_At least he'll know what to do, right?_

* * *

**82119 Seconds**

Wong Fu's was dead and gone, Sid having won the lottery and sold the restaurant, but Booth understood Angela loud and clear. He grabbed a table near the rear of what was now an espresso bar and café and sipped an organic coffee between impatient glances towards the entrance.

His morning had been the equivalent of a wisdom tooth extraction without anesthetic. Another grilling, this time from Hacker, had been followed by two hours spent demanding answers, to no avail. Just past lunch, he'd been dragged in by Flynn and Shaw for another interview, during which they played Bad Cop and Apologetic Cop while poking for holes in Booth's story. It had been tedious and exhausting, but they'd gotten nowhere. Booth wondered if they'd bothered to note his experiences with being tortured in the war, or if Flynn actually believed he could outwit him.

_Likely the latter_.

What Booth had managed to gain was information, mainly via Shaw's "eager to please" loose lips. Whether it was an act or simply the fact she was green, he was grateful all the same.

Angela arrived in a panic, scanning the café wildly before storming towards Booth. He rose to greet her and found her embracing him again. Startled, he loosely hugged her with one arm until she explained.

"I think I may have been followed," she whispered.

"Gotcha. Just sit down."

She took the seat across from him, tucking her purse on her lap. Her hair was tangled, stray curls falling to each side. Booth flagged the server and ordered Angela coffee before devoting his attention to her.

"Why do you think that?" Booth asked.

"Black SUV, tinted windows, in the rear view since the Jeffersonian. What would you think?" Angela snapped.

"I'd think you had a tail. Did you try to shake it?"

She nodded quickly, thanking the server for the large mug that arrived. "I spun in circles a bit and we continued to do the conga line all the way here. Would they follow me inside?"

"Depends. Feds wouldn't. But those guys don't look familiar," Booth added, studying the men entering the café. "And those khakis and golf shirts aren't fooling anyone. Don't look," he insisted quietly. "Let me keep an eye out, alright?"

Angela nodded nervously as the two men sat down with small coffees near the exit. Something didn't quite add up here. Either the FBI had terrible field agents in play or these guys were Metro DC. Unless…

"Angela, call Hodgins."

"Why?" Realization dawned on her and she began to seethe. "Never mind, I think his Thurston is showing." She hit her speed dial, tapping her fingers angrily upon the table. "Hi, Jack? Quick question, husband of mine: am I being tailed by your goons or should I be calling the FBI?"

Her angry look said everything. Without so much as a goodbye, Angela hung up the phone and shoved it into her purse.

"He means well," Booth said gently. "He's worried about you. I'd do the same in his shoes, although with Bones and her martial arts mojo, I'd definitely warn her first to save the guy's kneecaps."

"I get it: macho rich men and their personal Knights of the Crystal Chandeliers. Warning would have been nice. Anyway, I gotta make this fast. Have you heard anything about Bren?"

Booth nodded. "From what I gathered between the lines and Agent Shaw leaving me alone with her notes, they believe she's in New York State. Her credit cards have been used for a cab that dropped off at Dulles, purchasing two tickets to Montreal, and train tickets to New York. Bus tickets were purchased under her name for Los Angeles. Her phone's pinging off a tower that indicates she's moved towards New Jersey. Apparently Max was sighted asking about Jersey as well."

"And what do you think?"

With a pointed look, he said, "If she's run – and I have no idea what's going on – Max isn't stupid. He'd have set everything up to misdirect. My gut says she wouldn't cross the border, and New York's out. Beyond that…"

Angela sighed. "This has got to be hell for you, sweetie. Not knowing what's going on, or if she's okay. It's hell for me, but for you… this is like Hodgins and Michael going AWOL. I'd break and drown myself in ice cream and Sauvignon Blanc."

"At least they've actually picked up Pelant, although they claim he has an alibi. They're keeping tabs, but only loosely."

The only way Booth had been able to convince the Bureau to keep a close eye on Pelant was to turn their theories against them and suggest that if they believed Bones was a murderer on the run, they ought to try and prevent her from lashing out at the weasel. It sickened him to even imply it, but it had succeeded.

"I found something today," Angela said. "Something seriously crazy. I was scanning the library books to look for more of his code, when suddenly the system was hijacked by whatever this one book had."

"Did it wreck your system again?"

She shook her head. "I learned my lesson last time. I may not be an evil hacker genius, but I know my tech. I dug out an old hard drive and monitor from storage."

"What did the system do?"

"Before I disconnected the network connection, it ran some sort of script that began to fetch classified information. As in CIA logins."

Booth felt the blood drain from his face. "Angela, no…"

"Booth, if he programmed a code to play fetch with government logins and passwords, there may be a code that retrieves them for him somehow. Hodgins thinks he used it to blackmail someone on the inside."

Booth downed the remainder of his coffee, his mind racing with possible scenarios. _If Pelant had someone on the inside, someone from the CIA, it would explain how the body ended up among the informant files_. And someone on the inside would know every detail of their investigation and the Medico-Legal team.

"This is worse than we thought."

"Booth, isn't this enough to revoke Pelant's parole? Wasn't he banned from anything to do with computers or hacking?"

"We'd have to prove he wrote the codes, which will be a chore since Flynn's dead set on chasing down Bones."

"Who else would have written them?" Angela countered. "The code's in pieces across forty different books, for God's sake! Forty books that Pelant checked out in a short period."

Booth mulled this over for a moment. _How do we prove he did it, beyond a shadow of a doubt_? There was no way to fingerprint a computer code, was there? The bastard had the means and knowledge to access the books and insert code, but could they definitively tie him to it?

"Ange, is there any way to know if anyone else signed out these books since Pelant?"

"Not until the library gets their system back up. It's been corrupted by one or more of these codes. I might have it next week, though."

"It's a start," Booth concluded. "Keep the code you've found safe. My money's on a self-destruct button hidden somewhere in another barcode. In the meantime, keep looking."

"What about you?"

Booth grinned. "Hey, I'm suspended, but that doesn't mean I can't call a few buddies and shake the higher branches of the tree."

Angela wasn't amused. "Just don't take a chainsaw to them, alright? The last thing we need is you behind bars."

"I have no intentions of that."

"One last question before I head back to the lab: do we tell Flynn about this?"

Booth shrugged. "I wouldn't go running with it until you finish the rest of the books and get that library data. If it were me, I'd want to know right now, but Flynn's the guy who needs to be slugged by Captain Obvious."

"I've got a sledgehammer with his name on it," she grumbled as she reached for her coffee.

"If he asks, tell him. Otherwise, don't volunteer it. If anyone asks why, tell them you needed the library data to know anything concrete."

"Thanks, Booth. We're still your people, not Flynn's," Angela added lightly. "See you tonight?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Gonna try a few things myself before meeting you there."

With a forced smile, Angela rose and made her way towards the exit. She paused near her not-so-secret security detail, giving them a dirty look before shoving her way out into the street. Booth chuckled as the idiots rose in confusion and followed her, one of them activating his Bluetooth immediately. _Smooth, guys. Real smooth_.

Downing his coffee, Booth weighed his next courses of action. Without the Bureau's resources, he was flying fairly blind, and given the precarious situation, trailing Pelant was a no-go. He did, however, have one idea that was – aside from his suspension – perfectly legitimate. He dialed the number in his contacts list, absently tapping his fingers on the table.

"Yeah, Sweets? How's about a meeting of the 'booted from the case' minds?"

* * *

_**Thanks for reading! Here's hoping I can get the next chapter to you next Sunday! Cheers!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**_AN: The writing's coming easily, so hey, why make you wait for another chapter? That's as bad as having to wait for another episode of Bones!  
_**

**_We're back with Brennan for this one. For those not mathematically inclined, we begin on Day 2 and end on Day 3.  
_**

**_Lyrics come from "My Love Will Not Let You Down" by Bruce Springsteen, which strikes me as a Booth song, particularly for season five.  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**98103 Seconds**

With an early start to her day – Temperance waiting for a change of staff at the motel office to drop off her key – she set out on the next leg of her drive towards her father's first proposed destination. Checking in with the GPS unit, she noted that she needed at least twelve hours of active driving time today to ensure meeting his day 3 deadline. Nursing Christine until the sated infant passed out, she'd driven five above the speed limit on major roads, just as her father had instructed.

"Doing the exact speed limit or moving slow triggers suspicion," Max had instructed her. "Keep pace and be imperfect. If the other cars go five over, do five over. But no more than that."

She ditched the glasses while driving, donning them only when pulling into desolate coffee shops or gas stations for quick bathroom breaks and grabbing snack foods. The lack of nutrition disgusted her, leaving her stomach turning and gurgling, but there wasn't another option. She couldn't afford to be choosy. She had to blend in.

Making a left onto Jericho road, she adjusted the radio station, tuning in the talk radio station she'd once interviewed on. Having decided that the best way to unlearn her habits was immersion, she'd kept her radio set to talk stations for the entire day, parroting phrases, which seemed to amuse Christine greatly. At her fussier moments, she sang to her daughter or played back a recording Booth was unaware of, one she treasured.

Several months prior, she'd overheard Booth singing to Christine in her room. He was quiet, determined to let her sleep through the night for a change, but her hormones had sharpened her hearing, it seemed. Cocking her head to the side, she'd smiled, reached for her phone and crept down the hall.

"…_I see you standin' across the room watchin' me without a sound  
I'm gonna push my way through that crowd  
I'm gonna tear your holy walls down  
Tear all your walls down  
My love, love, love, love, love, love, will not let you down_…"

Mesmerized, she'd forgotten to stop the recording, an error she was grateful for later.

"My beautiful angel," he'd murmured, smiling as Christine cooed appreciatively. "We'll let Mom sleep, won't we? She needs rest… Your Mom never stops, Christine. She's a fighter in every sense. She fought Daddy for years." A soft chuckle had slipped past his lips as she'd struggled to breathe. "She's worth every second I waited. And so are you."

Blinking back tears, she'd remembered the phone and hit stop, gingerly picking her way back down the hall. His capacity for love seemed immense, like a constellation spanning the entire night sky. Her gratitude for him loomed large each and every day, somehow leaving her with the sense of being unable to breathe, although her doctor assured her that her lungs were in perfect working order.

She had waited for him too. Waited through his relationship with Hannah. Waited through the aftermath. Waited because there wasn't another man in the world who would ever understand her as Booth did, and without understanding, there could not be a bond worth calling love. And, in case she ever forgot or felt that impermeability returning, she'd stored the sound file on her mp3 player.

_I love you, Booth. Remember that_. It was her silent wish, each and every minute.

Christine stirred in the back, the familiar whimper of frustration. This car ride was unsuitable for proper exercise and stimulation, but it was unavoidable.

"Hey, sweetheart. We'll take a break in twenty minutes, okay?" She struggled to keep her tone pleasant, her volume modulated to hide her discomfort with being on the road. "Do you want to listen to Dad again?"

_I do_.

The recording played and Christine babbled, apparently a huge fan of the artist she'd later determined to be Bruce Springsteen. She enjoyed his songs now, purchasing a CD after that night. If Booth noticed, he'd allowed her to pretend he knew nothing. In her mind, she drifted to another memory, several years ago.

They'd traced the killer they later came to call Gormogon to an old bank vault. She'd maintained a stoic front as they waited for the vault to be cracked, but inside, Brennan was mulling over Angela's words. Was replacing Zack truly her sole motivation for remaining at the Jeffersonian, or was some part of her troubled by this 'iconic image' Angela had referred to? Surely, being a woman of logic, she wouldn't fall prey to something so silly, let alone remain unaware of it! And yet, standing beside Booth, the scent of his after shave faintly lingering in the air, she found herself feeling naked in spite of her clothing.

When the vault had opened, she'd felt immense relief. _I can focus on the case_, she'd decided, following Booth inside. And then suddenly, there she was, flat on her back, with Booth on top of her, eyes closed tightly. Their noses were a hair's breadth from touching and for one moment, hormonal urges seized control of her thoughts.

_His lips are so soft…_

Sucking in a breath to steady herself, she'd glanced up, noting the cause of his sudden tackle: a transmitter box against the wall. He must have assumed a threat was imminent – and had protected her. Alpha male tendencies, as usual.

His explanation about suspecting a bomb seemed legitimate, but his eyes lingered, locked on her own as if seeking some answer to an unspoken question. As they rose to their feet, she'd brushed against him and felt her skin flush. Her focus had returned, but in a private moment later, she'd reflected on the incident and concluded that perhaps she _did_ understand what Angela had meant. Not that she could ever act on the… _urges_.

She'd changed her mind eventually, of course. The babbling baby behind her was the result of that surrender.

Shaking her head slightly, she forced herself to focus on her new identity. _I am Angie Parker. I am an aspiring writer doing research on small town America and the preservation of old customs in an age of rapidly-developing technology. My child, Chris, is with me. I was artificially inseminated. _It seemed an appropriate cover for her to access libraries and research what Ethan had tried to tell her before his death.

Signaling a lane change, she continued to repeat her story in her head. She had to remember the details. She had to be consistent. She had to lie as if her life depended on it. And, given Pelant's history, it likely did.

* * *

**129600 Seconds**

Andrew found himself staring at the computer screen, the words blurring into an incomprehensible mess until he at last blinked again, reminding him of their cold message.

_Christopher Pelant has been cleared of any wrongdoing with respect to the flight of Temperance Brennan and her daughter, Christine Booth. Requesting agency resources currently monitoring Pelant be redirected to maintaining surveillance on Seeley Booth. Suspect he will make contact or perhaps flee. _

Although the header clearly indicated the sender as Special Agent Hayes Flynn, Andrew Hacker remained skeptical. There was no way to pinpoint the cause of his discomfort, no facts to present, and yet he hesitated to grant the request.

Yes, the evidence in the Sawyer case clearly pointed to Temperance as the culprit. Yes, Pelant had thus far been cleared of any wrongdoing. And yes, Seeley Booth was fiercely protective of his partner – in multiple senses, now – and his child. But Andrew also knew Temperance, and he simply couldn't believe in her guilt. Not until they had a proverbial smoking gun.

Booth was incredibly adamant about this Pelant character's ability to manipulate computer systems. He'd approved the preliminary reports from the case and read of viruses carved into bones. He wasn't technologically knowledgeable enough to confirm this himself, but he trusted his agent and he trusted the Jeffersonian team. And if he trusted them, then he had to ask the question: was this email actually sent by Flynn?

His hand reached for the phone, his finger hovering briefly over the numbers as he debated who to call. With a furious five-number combination, he drummed his fingers on his desk until a voice answered on the other end.

"Hacker… I need you to do a trace off the books… I received an email seven minutes ago. I need confirmation of the origin of the computer it came from and I need a verbal report on the matter…. Yes, that email. Thank you."

Sinking back into his chair, Andrew closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. This was going to be a long day. He could feel it in his bones.

_Bones_… Silently, he prayed the evidence was wrong about Temperance Brennan. Very, very wrong.

* * *

**247956 Seconds**

"Turn right in zero-point-one miles," the robotic voice instructed. "You have reached your destination."

The diner looked deserted, aside from four vehicles scattered around the lot. Pulling her car into the farthest corner as she'd been instructed, Temperance killed the engine and immediately donned her glasses. With a deep breath, she studied the vehicles, seeking a sign that she'd not failed her father.

The car with the Ohio licence plate did the trick.

Packing up her scant belongings into the large tote bag, she stepped outside into the cool afternoon air, grateful for the overcast weather. Unbuckling Christine's seat from the car, she made her way slowly towards the main entrance, cognizant of her surroundings.

_Angie Parker. You're looking for Margaret Whitesell._

Her eyes scanned the diner left to right as she felt a twinge of pain from the shift in her usual visual acuity. She would never get used to the glasses. Her father would have to help her find an alternative. To her right, she spied a waitress with long dark hair, untying an apron and rounding a corner, and she followed.

"Maggie! Can't you stay on until Teresa shows?" a surly man barked from behind the counter.

"No, I can't," she said firmly. "_He that is good for making excuses is seldom good for anything else_."

Temperance suppressed the urge to laugh. _Benjamin Franklin. Still_. It was good to know that with all the upheaval in her life, some things had remained the same. Rounding the corner, she fought the urge to cry in relief.

_Dad_.

He glanced up at the approach of the second cousins, one as yet unaware of the other, and nodded approvingly. Gesturing behind Maggie, the woman turned, smiling briefly at Temperance and Christine before joining her father at the back table. Temperance sat down quickly, gently resting Christine's seat on the chair beside her.

"Uncle Joe," Maggie said casually. "I see you've brought a family member for me to meet. Or, rather, two."

"Angie Parker," Temperance said casually, adjusting Christine's blanket. "This is my son, Chris."

Max nodded slightly, indicating his approval. "Angie's your cousin. Bob had an affair way back. She found us on Facebook recently."

Brennan quickly assimilated this information and stored it away. The resemblance between the two women was, according to Max and Booth, uncanny. She would have to be a relative to Maggie.

"You staying for a bite?" the man called out from the corner. "Should I grab menus for the nice folks?"

"No, we were just waiting for Maggie to finish her shift," Max announced. "Shall we?"

"Absolutely," Maggie said cheerfully. "I'm the black pick-up."

"We'll leave your car here for now, Angie. Don't want you driving on the back roads with that bad transmission," Max insisted. "My buddy'll come get it and take it to the shop. Leave the keys inside."

"Sure thing, Joe," Temperance replied calmly, handing Christine to him. "Meet you at your car."

With a quick jog to her vehicle, she left the keys in the glove box and slammed the door. Confirming that the Ohio plate was indeed her father, she joined him at his vehicle and opened the back seat.

"I'll ride with Chris. He's been fussy today," she explained.

They pulled out of the lot, Max allowing Maggie to move several miles ahead. Temperance assumed that Max already knew the way to wherever they were going and on the edges of Mankato, Minnesota, one car tailing another would likely provoke suspicion.

After three silent miles, her father spoke at last.

"I'm so happy to see you, sweetheart."

"I'm glad to see you too," she replied hoarsely, fighting tears as she danced Christine's toy bear around to amuse her. "It's been a long few days."

"Tell me about it! My ass is numb from the driving. Did the GPS work out okay?"

"Perfectly," she assured him. "The glasses need to go," she added. "I'm getting a headache."

"We'll get you contacts. Brown ones. Nice and plain." He turned onto a road of dirt and gravel, grimacing as the small car jerked. "You'll have to get used to another name, though. The ID's done."

"That's fine. Whatever you think is best."

Temperance hesitated as Booth came into her mind for the hundredth time that day. Did she dare ask how the case was going? Did Booth know the truth? Was he angry? Worse: was he hurt?

"He knows," Max said quietly, answering her thoughts. "He ran after the car."

"Of course he did," she said sadly. Booth always came after her. Always.

Her father sighed deeply, turning the car into a space alongside an old farmhouse. Maggie's truck remained out front, the only vehicle visible from the road. Parking the car, he turned in his seat.

"It's going to be okay."

"Dad, how upset was he?"

Max shrugged. "He didn't hit me."

"But he wanted to."

Max nodded. "I offered to let him. Probably took the fun out of it."

Her hands fumbled with the seat belt as she averted her eyes. "What did he say?"

"He told me to tell you that he would get his family back."

Temperance winced, staring at Christine's drowsy face. She'd taken his family from him. She'd done what her parents had done to her, only worse. She'd mirrored Rebecca, and she'd listened to hours of Booth's aggravation over her move to Europe. How would he ever forgive her betrayal?

"Sweetie, don't cry. Come on, let's go in the house and talk. Maggie's making supper. Knowing her, it's Benjamin Franklin's favourite meal, but it's food," he added with a wink.

She managed a half-chuckle at how right her father likely was as they made their way up the steps of Maggie's home. She'd inherited it from her grandfather, Max explained, and refused to leave it to strangers. While most of the farm animals had been sold off, she kept several chickens and two cows on the property, as well as a modest vegetable garden.

"Come on into the kitchen!" Maggie called out. "'_Lost time is never found again_'."

"Maggie, you really need to knock the Franklin off," Max teased as they followed her voice.

Her cousin laughed, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. "I do it more because Temperance told me to stop it. A kind of joke. Or should I maintain calling her Angie?"

Max shook his head. "Nah, we have to get acclimated to our cards. Speaking of," he said, reaching for a bag on the kitchen table, "I have them here. Where's your wallet?"

Brennan slid the large tote from her shoulder. "It's in here."

"Empty it out. We're switching everything tonight," Max ordered. "We only have a few days before moving on. Never know if the Feds will come looking here."

Taking Christine into his arms, he announced that he'd be putting her down in a crib down the hall, leaving the two women alone. Maggie seemed awkward about this, although her demeanor remained pleasant.

"I'm sorry." At this, Temperance glanced up from the open tote and found her cousin staring at her. "I don't know what to say and when I don't have words, I turn to Benjamin. But I'm trying to not do that."

"It's okay," she replied sadly. "Rationally, there's nothing that anyone can say to make the situation better. But thank you for wanting to do so."

With a nod, Maggie returned to quartering potatoes, dropping them onto a large roasting pan. Temperance found her wallet and slowly began to empty it onto the table. Driver's licence, social insurance card, library card, gym membership card… How strange to see her life laid out on a small table. Was there an anatomical method for this? Could the bones of her life be arranged into a semblance of order and meaning?

Photos, next: Christine, Parker, Booth… She knew she couldn't keep them, yet the thought of parting with them pained her physically. Perhaps Maggie could keep them, or return them to Booth somehow. Receipts… Odd notes… _Scraps of a life_.

"She's asleep," Max announced as he returned to the table. "Did she travel well?"

"Yes, although she didn't like not seeing someone for so long. It should be better with the three of us."

Max withdrew an envelope from his bag, passing it to Temperance. "New driver's licence, passport, birth certificate, social insurance and a CVS points card for the hell of it. The photo looks good." As she opened the flap, he added, "But, like I said, brown contacts. No option, Tempe."

Her fingers caressed the driver's licence, marveling at the deception. Her hair had been digitally altered to a plain black, her eyes a muted shade of brown. Momentarily fixated on the California designation, she was oblivious to her new name.

"Is it okay?"

"Hmm?"

"The name," Max said emphatically. "Can you live with it?"

Scanning down, she took in her new moniker: Andrea Buxley. Puzzled, she glanced up at her father.

"I took the last name from your first book," he explained. "Had to think of something memorable but not obvious. As for Andrea, well, I figure we'll shorten that."

She smiled as she understood him. _Andy. As in Lister_.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Just call me Joseph Buxley, your uncle," he quipped. "Now, hurry up and switch everything over. My buddy should be here soon to collect our old selves."

"Isn't that dangerous?" she asked. "What if he tells someone?"

"Could you trust your old man, please? I know who's reliable. This guy hates cops more than anything in the world. Maggie, need a hand?"

"If you'd like, _Uncle Joe_."

_Andy Buxley_, she told herself as she exchanged the IDs in her wallet. _Andy Buxley, writer of non-fiction_. Booth still didn't believe he wasn't the Andy of her books and Brennan still pretended he was wrong. Although, the sex scenes between Kathy and Andy were strictly Angela's doing… at first, anyway.

Fumbling around in hidden pockets, she withdrew a small square of paper from her wallet, yellowed from age. She unfolded it carefully in her lap, unsure of its origin until the title page of her own novel greeted her.

_The Gravedigger_.

In her head, she heard Hodgins' weary voice: "_Anyone you wanna say goodbye to_?"

Turning the paper over, she read the short message scrawled on the torn book page.

_Booth,_

_Don't blame yourself for what's happened. I know you tried harder than anyone else could as you are the best at your job. Take care of Angela. Her heart is like yours and I'm certain she'll be very distressed. _

_You're not Andy Lister, Booth. You're better._

_Love, Bones_

Her father wasn't looking, focused instead on marinating a steak. She quickly folded up the note, ramming it back into the depths of her wallet. She could part with her ID, change her hair and name, even give up her photos. But this message, this desperate final statement that had ultimately betrayed her growing feelings for her partner, was not something she could let go of. If it led to her capture, so be it. She refused to let it disappear without Booth having ever read it. Maybe if she shared this hidden piece of her with him, he'd forgive her.

"Everything okay, kiddo?"

Glancing up, she forced a weak smile. "Yeah, Dad. Just hungry."

"Uncle Joe," he corrected.

She nodded, slipping her headphones on and hitting play, staring at the photo of her and Booth from last year. It was a week after she'd told Booth of her pregnancy, at Michael's "welcome home" party. They'd remained silent about their changing status to everyone except Angela, who'd snapped the photo with a wink. It was evidence that they weren't fooling anyone: Booth's grin and her flushed cheeks spoke volumes on their behalf.

"_I'm gonna tear your holy walls down  
Tear all your walls down  
My love, love, love, love, love, love, will not let you down_…"

A tear slid down her cheek, falling to the table's lacquered surface. _Bring us home, Booth. You won't let us down. That's a scientific fact_.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading! What did you think of Maggie's appearance? See it coming? (Note to HH: bring her back!)  
**_


	7. Chapter 7

**_AN: Hooray for Maggie! I'm happy to hear people are enjoying the old characters/recurring characters popping in and out. As I was telling a reviewer, I marathoned the entire series in the month of May and I feel this need to tie up loose ends (um, where did Sid go?) and bring in faces I want to see again (Margaret). There are more faces coming, so stay tuned.  
_**

**_Shall we return to the Jeffersonian now?  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**318600 Seconds**

"Damn it!"

Cam Saroyan struck her keyboard angrily, sending a Shift key flying to the floor. Her email program blipped through several screens before offering the option to confirm or cancel… something. Cancelling out, she re-read the message from Andrew Hacker.

_Dr. Saroyan,_

_Please be advised at this time that Christopher Pelant has been found to have an alibi with respect to the disappearance of Dr. Temperance Brennan and Christine Booth. It is the FBI's belief that she has fled to avoid arrest. She remains the primary suspect in the Sawyer case._

_Please continue to pursue any further evidence with respect to the death of Dr. Ethan Sawyer. As much of the evidence is circumstantial, the prosecutors are keen to have more concrete material for pursuing their case._

"This is going to make me _so_ popular," she grumbled.

To say that things were a bit chilly around the Jeffersonian right now would be like saying Seeley kind of liked his children. Angela refused outright to speak with her unless asked directly to do so and Hodgins had fallen in line with his wife. Booth was refusing her phone calls, sending her straight to voice mail. The only person in the lab currently speaking to her was Wendell, and even he seemed distant.

"It's not my fault," she whispered to no one.

She had done what they always did: she had followed the evidence, impartially. While yes, the case against Brennan was circumstantial, it was incredibly loaded, given her motive and opportunity. In her heart, Cam didn't believe Brennan was capable of killing a friend of many years, but to say as much would be to insert conjecture into the files. Even Dr. Brennan would protest at that.

The irony was an amped-up drummer inside her pounding skull.

Cam re-read the email, suddenly noticing a telling feature: Hacker was actively pushing for the Jeffersonian to keep working the case. He was calling the evidence circumstantial – meaning he was giving no more weight to the hair in Brennan's trunk than the fact she'd been at the hospital right before Sawyer's disappearance and eventual murder. Most important to her sudden glimpse of light at the end of this hellish tunnel: Flynn hadn't sent this. Hacker had.

Brennan still had friends in Bureau places.

Her heels clicked loudly against the tile as she stepped out into the main lab. Wendell was on the platform, examining a set of remains from Limbo. Hodgins and Angela weren't within eyeshot. Where to begin?

Wendell was of no help. They only had one body. They had Ethan's code – not that anyone understood it. That was an Angela domain. Cam's eyes widened. _The code… If we missed that, what else could we have missed at the hospital_? She and Hodgins had torn Ethan's room apart, but there was the low security wing where he'd suddenly been transferred to, never mind the grounds.

"Dr. Hodgins!" she shouted impatiently, striding towards his office.

"He stepped out with Angela," Wendell offered up. "Lunch."

"Mr. Bray, call them back to the lab please. It's urgent."

Wendell froze, femur bone in hand. "Why me?"

"Because I am the Wicked Witch of the West Office and you are on good terms with them. They'll let my call go to voice mail," Cam explained.

"What's this about, Dr. Saroyan?"

With cautious optimism, she forced a smile. "We're going after more evidence that will hopefully clear Dr. Brennan." With that, Cam stood at the centre of the platform and waited for their return.

Her staff half-ran into the lab within five minutes, as she'd predicted.

"Dr. Saroyan, what's this about evidence?" Hodgins asked.

"Yeah, I thought we'd gone over everything and decided our friend was a murderous bitch?" Angela asked with an overly saccharine tone that Cam was willing to excuse – once.

"Look, I get it: everyone is pissed at me. But deep down, you all know I am doing what Dr. Brennan would approve of. I'm following the evidence. _Wait a minute before leaving, Ms. Montenegro_," she cautioned as Angela began to pivot on her heel. "Hacker emailed me today. They've cleared Pelant of taking Brennan and Christine."

"Not like we actually thought that he did it," Hodgins muttered.

"He has also advised that we need to continue to pursue the Sawyer case, as the evidence is circumstantial. Hacker said this, not Flynn, people. Do the math with me."

Angela's eyes widened. "That must have been one hell of a round of drinks years ago," she mused.

"Babe? Care to share with the rest of the class?"

"Jack, obviously Hacker's not convinced Bren's the killer. He went over the Jeffersonian liaison's head and told Cam to keep digging." Turning to Cam, Angela asked, "What do we do now?"

Cam heaved a sigh of relief. _Good, they're back on board_. Pessimistically, she added, _For now._

"The way I see this, we need to think broader. _If _Pelant somehow set this up – Angela, cut me some slack with the evil eye – then he manipulated the things we'd look at first. He may be smart, but there's no way he thought of every angle, especially from house arrest. I don't care if he's a direct descendant of Harry Houdini. He's missed something."

Hodgins leaned against the platform railing, nodding his head. "The code. He didn't anticipate that."

"Exactly. Which is why I want to go back to the psychiatric facility and take another look at the low security ward and the grounds. Dr. Hodgins, I'll need your assistance for that task."

"Gotcha."

"Angela, I know you're working on the code from the wall. I also know it's stalled. Do me a favour: go back over the security footage and grab an image of everyone coming in and out. I know Brennan said the hospital kept written sign-in logs but we can't trust those and, if Brennan is being honest about her visits, we also can't trust the footage. I want to compare the two, see if anything jumps out at us."

"Before or after the hospital investigation?" Angela asked.

Cam debated this briefly. "Before. We can flash photos around to Sawyer's doctors and ward staff."

"On it, Cam."

"Dr. Saroyan, what about Flynn?" Hodgins asked, his disdain apparent.

"Oh don't worry, I have a task for him," Cam replied. "I'm about to email Hacker and ask for a list of everyone who's been visiting Pelant's home during house arrest. Just to eliminate him from Inger and Ezra's deaths of course. Perfectly routine."

"But we can't prove a link between them and the Sawyer case," Wendell interjected.

"Ah, but those cases remain open, and we all know how dearly Hacker prizes our solve rate, Mr. Bray." Cam stretched her arms overhead, loosening the knots of tension in her body. "I'll send that email now."

"Cam?"

She spun around, finding Angela looking somewhat sheepish. "Yes?"

"I'm still furious, but I understand. And thank you for still searching."

Cam nodded. "Anger is fuel and I have plenty of it. Folks, let's remember that Pelant's spinal code was simpler than it originally looked. We've spent a great deal of time trying to prove Pelant himself killed these people. Maybe he's just a puppeteer for someone else who's doing the dirty work. Let's follow the evidence and trust we'll find answers."

With a triumphant smile, Cam ascended the stairs towards her office, mentally composing her reply to Hacker. _There is nothing special about you, Agent Flynn. Let's see how you like dancing to our tune_.

* * *

**324714 Seconds**

_Construction_, Booth thought angrily. _Of course there's construction obstructing all of the simple routes into the American University campus_!

His conversation the day before with Sweets hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, although it had proven useful all the same. While Sweets worked on tapping into resources Flynn would never see coming, Booth was paying a visit to a professor Sweets had suggested. An expert in Computational Sciences, Dr. Drew Yeung specialized in research concerning artificial intelligence and computers successfully mimicking and predicting human behavior. Booth was hopeful that the professor could at least direct them to research that would help interpret Ethan's code.

_I've got nothing else to do until my review hearing_, Booth reminded himself. _Bones and Christine are counting on me to do more than sit on my ass and feel sorry for myself_.

Finally locating the parking lot nearest Dr. Yeung's lab, Booth parked his now operational car and strode quickly across the pavement. _Work the case, Booth. Gather the facts. Let the Squints pull it all together_.

He was relieved to find Dr. Yeung alive and waiting for him in an enormous computer lab. Students worked feverishly at several machines while the professor graded papers at a large desk. Hearing Booth's approach, he sat the papers aside and smiled warmly.

"Agent Booth, I presume! I'm glad you made it through the mess out there."

"Yeah, that's truly the worst detour ever designed," Booth grumbled.

"Our tax dollars at work, making our lives miserable through inefficient human behavior," Dr. Yeung commented wryly. "Someday, computers will plan better alternatives for us. Speaking of, I've gathered some resources that may be of help."

Booth nodded, reaching into his pocket for a slip of paper. "Hey, can you explain something for me first? This quote… It means something to my partner, but it's gibberish to me."

Dr. Yeung glanced down and nodded in recognition. "Alexander Pope! The quote was meant as an epitaph of sorts for Sir Isaac Newton. You're aware of his laws?"

"Mostly," Booth lied. Science was never his strong point. It was why he'd initially felt so threatened by Bones and the Squints.

"Newton's laws were particularly illuminating for our understanding of motion, time and space. They allow us to predict, to a degree, behavior. Some argue that Newton's laws can be extrapolated to a version applicable to human personality."

"Why would someone connect this quote to triangles?"

"Problems relating to his laws, particularly the third law, are often represented utilizing triangles." With a shrug, he turned to the stack of books in front of him. "Now, you spoke of a code connected to this in some manner?"

"Yes. A computer and mathematics expert wrote a code in a triangle, meant to somehow connect to a case regarding malicious code and behavior," Booth explained. "Unfortunately, the writer of the code has passed away without explaining it. We're hoping to make some sense of it."

"So it is the same case!" Dr. Yeung exclaimed.

Booth felt his stomach drop. "What are you talking about?"

"Your partner is Dr. Temperance Brennan?" At Booth's reluctant nod, Dr. Yeung smiled. "We spoke maybe six or seven days ago about complex coding for artificial intelligence and mathematical principles of logic. I sent several journal articles via email. Were they not helpful?"

_Two days before Bones left. _She'd been working the case off the books, again! Why had she hidden this from him?

"I never saw them. What address were they sent to?"

"An FBI account… The more I think of it, I believe they were sent to you. Seeley Booth, correct?"

Booth nodded. "I never received them. Would you be able to send them again?"

A sickening feeling washed over him. _My email's been compromised… meaning Pelant has seen all of my correspondence with the Jeffersonian and Hacker on this case_! Dr. Yeung pulled up his email via his phone and shrugged.

"It never bounced. Perhaps I should try another address?"

"Yeah." Booth scribbled down Hodgins' personal address at Cantilever. At this point, it was perhaps the only secure point of electronic contact they had. "What about the books?"

"You can borrow those three," he replied, tapping the touchscreen. "Return them whenever you're able to. If you need me to look at the actual code, give me a call."

"Thanks. I may have to." Hefting the books under his arm, Booth willed himself to remain calm. "I'll be in touch."

Booth made it to his car before screaming in frustration, slamming his fist against the steering wheel several times. _Goddamn Pelant!_ Angela was right about the code he'd created: it had fetched him access to Booth's own email account. And with that, he'd deleted Dr. Yeung's email and god knows what else.

"Wait. If he deleted it, it must be useful."

_Yes._ There was a bright spot in all of this mess. Whatever journals Dr. Yeung had sent in response to Bones' inquiry, they were too helpful to place in the hands of the Jeffersonian team.

"Good job, Sweets!" Booth mused aloud as he pulled back into the construction-plagued road.

Cranking up the classic rock station he loved, Booth drummed his fingers along with Styx and The Stones before noticing the new friends he had. Black SUV, tinted windows… Oh, yeah. He recognized this. Switching lanes a few times for confirmation, Booth rolled his eyes.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice a tail, Flynn?"

_Wait. The car could be compromised now_. Booth knew who to call immediately: Jack Hodgins.

"Hello?"

"Hey buddy, don't say anything. I just wanted to see if you could do for me what you did for yourself and Angela. Follow me?"

A beat, then a sigh. "Got it. Done and done. I'll get things together."

"Thanks, Hodgins. See you tonight."

A full sweep of his car would be imminent, as well as a replacement phone and scrambling devices on hand to deter surveillance. The tail wasn't easily ditched but knowing Hodgins, he'd have a set of goons following the Federal flunkiess within the hour. _I see your conga line Angela and raise you a car_.

What to do now? Any investigations would be reported back and he'd be damned if he gave Flynn anything to use. A smirk crossed his face as an idea hit him and he signaled for a quick lane change to take the next exit.

If they wanted a show, he'd give them one.

The church was his first stop, where he stepped into the confessional, admitted to swearing too much and then lit candles for his daughter and partner. From there, he drove to the police station where he'd filed his report on Bones and Christine, demanding a status report.

He deserved an Oscar for the stunned reaction he'd had when they'd advised him she'd fled the warrant. He'd even chastised her for breaking the laws she swore to help him enforce before storming out into the street. As he returned to his car, his phone rang. Glancing down, he grimaced. _Sweets._ He needed to talk to him, but the phone was likely tapped and that meant voice mail was risky.

"Sweets," Booth answered briskly. "Let me call you back."

"Agent Booth-"

"I said not now, Sweets. Trust me." And with that, Booth ended the call.

He'd make it up to the kid later. For now, there was nothing left to do except drive back to the Hodgins' residence and wait for the best private security money could buy.

* * *

**328003 Seconds**

She stared at the screen in disbelief, furious with herself. _How did I miss this the first dozen times_? Swiping at her tablet, she zoomed in further, confirming what her gut instincts already knew.

It was definitely her. Which meant there was a definite link.

Hitting print on the final still-frame, Angela paced like a caged animal. She was losing her touch. How else could she explain not noticing this? Yeah, it was over a week prior to Ethan's death – if the time stamp could be believed. It didn't matter. _I know her! I should have recognized her!_

Snatching up the fresh print, she rushed around the bend to Cam's office, waving a stack of photos. "Cam! I have something."

At this shouted announcement, Hodgins peered up from the platform, where he and Wendell were chatting over a set of remains from 1781. "What is it Angie?"

"You have to see this to believe it," she said. "And then, smack me hard for missing it before."

Cam stepped out into the hall, clutching a mug of coffee. "Are those the pictures?"

"Yeah, all one hundred and twenty-six faces." Waving Jack and Wendell closer, she shook her head. "Michael is obviously draining my ability to spot details from my mammary glands."

"We all miss things," Wendell offered up gently. "Dr. Brennan missed the needle-"

Angela's hand shot up in his face. "Sweetie, don't. Sore spot, cranky woman. Besides, when you see this, you'll appreciate my self-loathing." And with this ominous pronouncement, Angela held the picture up for her colleagues.

The silence was deafening. Everyone knew the face in the photo, even Wendell.

"Are you sure, Angela?" Cam asked quietly.

"Angela-tron says yes, I'm damn sure."

Hodgins let out a low whistle. "Which begs the question: why was Sophia Berman at the same psychiatric facility as Ethan Sawyer?"

"I don't know," Cam said calmly, "but I'd say that gives us a link."

* * *

_**Why hello, IT director Sophia Berman! What might you be doing at Hinsdale? Theories? Leave a review and take a**** guess.**_

_**Next time: a little Pelant; a little Flynn; a little Bones and Max - ahem, Andy and Joe; and a lot of Squinty action. See you soon!  
**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_AN: Hello, new readers! You've picked a great time to join me. I'm several chapters ahead on this one, so I'll be posting the next few pretty quickly.  
_**

**_Get ready: we're going to jump around a little bit in this one.  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**396087 Seconds**

The phone rings three times before his associate picks up, as is customary. Humans are creatures with an unhealthy dependence on routines and structure, he has come to understand. Inside the controlled chaos of the government, there are rules, directives, boring routines that dictate even covert operations. Within that predictability, there are exploits if one is so inclined.

"I told you not to use this number," the associate barks angrily.

Obedience has never been his strong suit. His associate knows better than to expect it.

"I wanted to thank you for your assistance with removing my unwanted followers," he states calmly. "They hinder my transportation of supplies."

"It wasn't hard to do. They barely had a case."

"They've always 'barely had a case'. This was completely threadbare. They only indulged it because of _him_."

He sneers, unwilling to speak the name of the man who battered him – even if that was according to his plans. Like all humans, _he_ is painfully predictable.

"Anything else?" His associate is very impatient, he notes.

"I find that all further actions required on my part do not necessitate me remaining in this area. It's time for me to broaden my horizons. Spread my wings and fly."

"That would be incredibly rash."

"Why?"

The associate groans. "Because the fucking Jeffersonian is still actively pursuing the case, that's why!"

He feels the blood drain from his face. _This is not how I planned things_. He'd eradicated that prosecutor who kissed their asses. He'd forced _him_ from the case and _she_ was running from the law she touted for years as tantamount to society's preservation. Her friends were divided and angry; his associate had confirmed this.

"Hasn't the arrest warrant sealed the deal?"

"Since she's fled, it's still fair game, and higher-ups have authorized it." Rage was thinly concealed in his tone. "You've dragged me too far into this already, and the heat's being turned up. You said this would be simple."

_Damage control time_. "It is simple. I've explained this to you several times. For all of our laws and rules, they mean nothing when those empowered to construct and enforce those laws flaunt them at every turn. The greater good is what we must always defer to, no matter how soiled our hands become. Shaking up the system teaches us how flawed that system is. Hasn't _he_ gone home yet?"

"No. His tail confirms he's staying with Squints."

_Damn it_. "It's still simple. The evidence ties to her in every way. They can search all they like. You've controlled things from that end thus far."

"Barely. You have no idea what these people are like to work with. And now you want to bail on your cushy nine-to-fiver and give them fuel? No, my friend. Your ass is staying put and you will be a goddamn boy scout."

"And if I don't?" he challenges instinctively.

"Then I re-open the notion that you abducted the good doctor and child, that's what. And given the desire to exonerate your patsy around here, they'll eat it up with their silver spoons. Now, don't call me again."

A click, then a dial tone.

Christopher Pelant stares at the pay phone receiver in his hand for several moments before replacing it and shaking his head. Some people simply do not have the stomach for true justice.

* * *

**398039 Seconds**

In light of Angela's discovery the day prior, Cam had delayed their expedition to the psychiatric facility, focusing the team instead on reviewing the Krane and Johanssen murders and tracing Sophia Berman's history. If she had any valid reason to visit the hospital that could be dismissed as mere coincidence, Angela was unable to find it, and Booth's friend Charlie had come up equally empty in that department. Satisfied that Flynn would be unable to charge her team with harassment or any sort of inappropriate tactics, she, Angela and Hodgins set out in the late morning to take another look at the last place Ethan Sawyer had been seen alive.

For all of his violent delusions, Sawyer was surprisingly well-liked among staff, Cam noted. His therapist remained convinced that he was another John Nash – "a beautiful mind trapped within the prison of his illness". Dr. Alyson Noble felt that Ethan's recently altered medication regimen was improving his ability to separate fact from fiction and would have allowed her to make true therapeutic breakthroughs that would have brought about remission.

"When Dr. Sawyer escaped last year, how did he manage that?" Cam asked.

"Regrettably, Ethan attacked an intern who had been supervising him in the OT room."

"OT?" Angela asked.

"Occupational Therapy," Alyson explained.

"Basket Weaving 101," Hodgins quipped.

"Dr. Hodgins, we provide far more than the stereotypical mundane exercises for our clients here at Hinsdale Mental Insitution," Dr. Noble snapped. "This establishment is one of the best in the country. There's a reason Dr. Sawyer's family brought him here. He was working on assembling unpainted bird houses for the seniors' home in town. It was his favourite activity."

"He attacked the intern," Cam reiterated, desperately steering the conversation back into a neutral zone. "Did he explain why he left?"

Dr. Noble nodded. "Yes. He stated that he could help the government determine the location of all remaining members of Al Qaeda if given a few coordinates and time to test out a mathematical model of terrorist behavior." Shaking her head sadly, she added, "His delusions focused on being patriotic and saving the world, for the most part. Even when he ranted about the baby, it was because he believed the child was in the way of saving others. It wasn't merely a malicious thought."

"Would it be possible to reconfirm the visitor logs for Dr. Sawyer?" Cam asked. "There has been some evidence that we cannot rely on the accuracy of logs compared to footage and vice versa."

"I can confirm that off the top of my head. Dr. Sawyer's only visitor in the last six months has been Dr. Brennan. She was last here several weeks ago. I recommended that she give me time to work with Ethan on his new medications to diminish his anger at the baby."

"And no one else has come to see him?" Angela pressed.

Alyson paused. "Wait, there was someone else, but Ethan refused to see her. She only came once."

Cam felt her pulse begin to race in that familiar way from her policing days, when an angle was about to pay off. "Did you get a name?"

"I can't recall offhand. I would recognize her."

"Could you do us a favour, Dr. Noble?" Can handed her the stack of photos Angela had produced from the security footage. "Would you be able to flip through these and set aside anyone who is not a regular visitor for a client, and also look for this woman you turned away?"

"Certainly. Anything I can do to help catch the person who killed Ethan, just ask," Dr. Noble said quietly. "Will you be examining the ward now?"

Hodgins nodded. "Yes, and the grounds on the south side. That was where Ethan escaped from, correct?"

Alyson nodded. "Ask Janice at reception to show you the ward and the window. She was on duty that night. Be kind," she added. "Janice was only following the orders set down in the system when she moved Ethan to minimal supervision. She blames herself for what happened."

"Understood. Thank you, Dr. Noble. The Jeffersonian appreciates your cooperation."

Cam shook the woman's hand quickly and gestured for her team to follow. With any luck, Noble would be able to pick Berman out as the mystery woman who'd come to see Ethan. That would give them a wider berth to continue to look at Pelant as at least an accessory in the three cases.

_And if that happens, maybe Seeley will pick up his damn phone and stop blaming me_, she thought sadly.

Janice was a forty-something nurse with bottle-blonde hair and enough fine lines to betray a life of mixed blessings. At the mention of Ethan Sawyer, her face immediately fell into a deep sadness, her chatty demeanor giving way to a demure minimalism.

"This is where I last saw him," she announced, gesturing to a wide common room. "I was still having his things transferred from lockdown to his new room when he escaped. He dodged out during the dispensing of evening medications." Wistfully, she pointed towards a large bay window. "He managed to loosen the grate over that window and escaped through it. Perhaps it was already loose and no one noticed. The clients in this ward are docile."

"Thank you, Janice. If we need any further assistance, we'll come find you," Cam said warmly.

With a little nod, the nurse pivoted, heading back towards the main corridor. Hands on her hips, Cam surveyed the expansive room, sighing in dismay. All chances of the destruction of evidence via chemicals and traffic aside, this was a nightmare. Particulate evidence would likely be useless here.

"What's the plan, Dr. Saroyan?" Hodgins asked.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Any suggestions?"

"Wave the magic spit wand over the walls and look for the key to Sawyer's code?" Angela suggested.

"Definitely on the list, starting with the walls near that window," Cam concurred. "Angela, did you want to speak with Janice? Perhaps she saw something that she doesn't appreciate the significance of. Your approach will be less intrusive to her, I'm sure."

With a nod, she retraced their steps towards reception, leaving Hodgins spinning in a slow circle, assessing the space.

"Hair and trace DNA would be a total nightmare here," he mused aloud. "Fingerprints would be a joke as well."

"Is there anything we can collect as a comparison for later, perhaps?"

"Like a control? Hmm… Given the number of people using this room, we can perhaps take samples of the dirt traces from the floor and particulates from the furniture to ascertain any organic materials or chemicals that are unique to this facility in their particular combination. That could be referenced against, say, someone's shoes later on. It's not a lot of help, to be honest."

Cam sighed. "We have to think of everything. If there's a 1% chance of this blowing the case wide open later in a way that's far more to our liking, let's do it. I'll start checking the walls."

* * *

**517982 Seconds**

_Mankato, MN_

"For the last time Dad, I said no!"

Max sighed, shaking his head. "Tempe, you're a celebrity. No matter how much we change your hair or clothing, no matter what contacts we shove in your eyes or how we dress Christine, you're incredibly familiar."

"Did you do it before Mom died?" Brennan challenged him, arms folded across her chest.

"Well, no-"

"Then you'll understand when I say that Booth appreciates the distinct balance of my features, and would not approve of me undergoing orthognathic surgery or augmenting my zygomatic structure," she countered triumphantly. "He'd kill you if you forced me to, and frankly, I wouldn't stop him."

"Tempe-"

"Not that I could. Booth's an incredible shot," she added. "And it's Andy. Andy Buxley. I'm thirty-two years old, born and raised in San Diego. I'm a travel writer working on my first book and have a son via artificial insemination, as I am a lesbian and have recently split up from my partner."

Max shook his head with a low whistle. "Jeez, you're better at this than I thought. You're going to remember all of that?"

Brennan frowned. "I know six languages, Dad. I am a renowned expert in Anthropology. Remembering five basic facts is not remotely challenging. Do you find it challenging? I'm well aware that memory processes tend to degrade in senior years and-"

"I'm not old!" Max snapped. "And fine: if you won't get a little cheek work done, you're wearing a push-up bra."

"That's ridiculous. In addition to the fact that my breasts are a perfectly pleasing size in their normal state, my breastfeeding has maintained an increased cup size that Booth compliments me on rather frequently."

"I really don't need to know what the man thinks of my daughter's parts," Max whined, obviously distressed. "Besides, it'll draw attention from your face."

"What's wrong with my face?"

Max rolled his eyes. "The bra or the surgery."

"Fine!" At the sound of an infant giggling, Temperance pushed past her father. "It's time to feed Chris. We can worry about this later."

"We need to worry now. Maggie needs to pick up clothing for you and I, and she needs a bra size. As much as I hate discussing your anatomy sweetheart, I don't have a choice."

Temperance ignored him, reaching into the antique crib and pulling her daughter into her arms. Christine gurgled and smiled, nestling her head against her mother's shoulder as she carried her back into the living room. The stability of their arrangements and her grandfather's presence had settled the fussiness of previous days, although Christine seemed to be searching for Booth each night at bedtime. It was understandable: they made great efforts to put her to bed together, no matter how harried the day had been.

"Clothing," her father insisted as she unbuttoned her shirt and reached for a blanket.

"I wear a 36 double-D if you must know. I am of similar shape to Maggie, so ask her to procure simple clothing in her size, underwear included. Christine's clothing is sized by her age, which she is currently matched precisely to in terms of infant garments. Can I please feed my daughter now?"

Max rolled his eyes. "We're doing this for your benefit. You could pretend to be grateful and cooperate."

"I never asked you to become involved, Dad," Temperance said, adjusting Christine's position to help her latch on. "It took a great deal of effort to clear your name before. Harboring a fugitive won't help you."

"You're my daughter. I would never leave you defenseless. Booth had to stay behind, so I am here."

She winced at his name, that _heart crushing_ feeling overtaking her. "I know you're trying to help."

"We leave tomorrow morning for the next house. I wouldn't be rushing these decisions if it weren't critical," Max insisted, softening his tone.

"Tomorrow? But she's just begun to settle into her routines again."

"We'll be able to stay longer at the next place, although it's a long drive. We should probably move night and day, take shifts."

Brennan sighed. She had logically known to expect this. It was unrealistic to assume that they could remain at the home of a family member – even one of distant lineage. At some point, someone would come knocking at the Whitesell farm. All the same, she would grieve the loss of Maggie's company. For all of their prior differences, Maggie had proven to be a witty and thoughtful woman, sympathetic to her guilt over betraying Booth. Her father was a survivalist: he simply couldn't understand it as she did.

"And the next place?"

Max smiled. "Pack your sunscreen, baby. We're off to Flagstaff, Arizona."

"There's incredible research into artificial intelligence underway in Tucson," Brennan remarked.

Max grimaced and crouched down beside her, meeting her gaze dead on. She sensed that this was a moment similar to his harried plan in the stolen minutes of Booth bathing Christine for her christening. Her father was displeased.

"You can't run around trying to solve this," he said firmly. "You need to stay out of sight. Every outing risks exposure, which means we have to run for the next safe house. If we can't stay hidden until Booth nails this hacker shithead, then you're risking Christine's safety and your own."

"Ethan was my friend." It was scarcely a whisper, her hand caressing Christine's head in a self-soothing gesture.

"I know, sweetheart."

"I have to do something. I have a good cover story. One trip." It was a plea.

"I'll think about it."

Brennan nodded sadly, pressing her lips to her daughter's head. She would never jeopardize her child's life. She understood the anthropological imperative to protect one's young now, and would happily die for her daughter to spare her life. But she also had a commitment to the truth, to justice for all of the lives ended before their time. She had a commitment to Booth, to her lab team. She felt compelled to do more than simply run away.

She was a fighter. Booth had said so and she knew it to be true in her metaphorical heart. She would not lay down her greatest weapon. She would use her mind and continue to fight.

* * *

**401719 Seconds**

"Anything?"

Cam sighed in defeat. "Nothing, aside from what appears to be the remains of a male patient providing himself with stimulation in a corner. You?"

Hodgins shrugged. "I've gathered samples from the entire room, for all of the good they'll do."

They'd combed the room, every square inch examined for something to use in the case. Ethan had left them nothing in here. Cam tugged off a glove and rubbed her temple, willing away the looming migraine.

_I really thought we'd find something_, she lamented.

"Should we move to the grounds?"

Cam nodded. "That's likely best, although perhaps we should check in with Angela and Dr. Noble on the way out."

Hodgins led the way towards the administrative wing, his kit slapping lightly against his thigh as he walked. The sound was soothing – a metronome – and Cam found her mind focusing in on their next steps. _If no one recognizes Berman, we can still question her as to her purpose for her visit. It's too strange to be a coincidence_, Cam reasoned. _Perhaps something in the soil will correspond to particulates on Dr. Sawyer's clothing, or rule out Dr. Brennan somehow_. In itemizing her list, she completely missed the fact that Hodgins had stopped walking and promptly slammed into him from behind.

"Crap!"

"Dr. Saroyan, look," he said quietly.

Angela was still speaking with Janice but they were also joined by Dr. Noble. The three of them were discussing a specific photo. The conversation was hushed and indiscernible but Cam felt her heart swell with hope. _Berman. Let it be Berman_.

"Dr. Noble, I was just coming to check in with you. Did something stand out?" Cam asked casually.

The doctor nodded, pointing at the picture in Angela's hand. "That's the woman who came to see Dr. Sawyer. I'm certain of it. That particular look in her eyes… that almost disgusted look she gives everyone… It's her."

Cam and Hodgins approached and exhaled a collective sigh of relief. It was Sophia Berman.

"Janice spoke with her as well," Angela interjected. "Could you go over the conversation one more time?"

Janice nodded enthusiastically. "She came in mid-afternoon, just before the end of my shift. I saw her loitering outside in the lot for a good twenty minutes and that struck me as odd. When she came in, she requested to see her brother, Dr. Sawyer." She rolled her eyes. "Dr. Sawyer is an only child. I immediately fetched Dr. Noble and she refused access. She left in a tremendous huff, muttering something about her time being wasted."

Dr. Noble nodded. "She was terribly rude. When I spoke with Ethan, he confirmed what Janice said and refused to see her. I sensed that he knew her, but not well. Almost as if he'd heard of her, not met her."

_Which makes sense,_ Cam thought. _Brennan had shared elements of the case files with Ethan. Berman's name was in them._

"No one else stood out?" Cam asked.

"Everyone else is a known visitor, staff member or expected vendor," Dr. Noble asserted. "I'm surprised that Dr. Brennan was in there. Didn't we restrict the footage to two weeks?"

"We did," Angela said quickly.

"I can't explain it, but the time stamp is wrong," Dr. Noble insisted. "Due to his outbursts and the high level of security he was kept under, no one was allowed to see Ethan without my verbal approval. There's no way Dr. Brennan came without my knowledge."

"Would we be able to see that in his files?" Angela asked.

"Written, yes. The computer file should also note it, although the transfer erased those directives," Janice replied. "The printed rounds from that day would show the old directives, though."

"Could we have a copy of that as well?" Cam asked.

"Certainly. I'll go get it for you," Janice said, heading down the hall.

"If there's nothing further I can assist you with, I do have an appointment with a client in two minutes," Dr. Noble stated.

"Thank you, Dr. Noble. We'll just take samples of the soil beneath the window and that log from Janice and be on our way," Cam said, shaking the doctor's hand.

Cam waited for the doctor to move out of earshot before ushering her team closer. _We rely on technology to be infallible, to be free of human error. Why didn't we ask the staff sooner to refute the footage_?

"Bren wasn't here," Angela insisted. "You heard her."

"Flynn will say she snuck past the staff," Cam countered. "I'm not saying he's right. I'm just thinking like him. It certainly helps, though. Berman, however, is definitely worth questioning."

"Why would she claim to be family?" Hodgins asked. "Wouldn't an IT Director of a hospital have enough sense to concoct a better story?"

"You would think…" Cam paused, shaking her head. "Are we certain that Berman wasn't working with Pelant?"

"Nothing was ever found to tie her to things," Hodgins said. "But let's face it: we all went gung ho after Pelant."

"Assumptions and conjecture have no place in our investigations," Angela said bitterly. "Bren says it all the time. How did we all go astray?"

Hodgins reached for his wife's hand, squeezing it gently. "He pushed all of our buttons, one by one. He threw us off our game. He's still trying. He's got a role in this, Ange. The question is, who else is part of his game?"

Cam grimaced, remembering how Ezra Krane's body had been shuffled from place to place, ending up at last in a crematorium. She'd smashed several dishes in her home that night in frustration, quietly sweeping up the pieces while Michelle stared in confusion. Hodgins was right: he'd played them all like instruments, plucking the notes he wanted to hear.

"Let's gather those soil samples, Dr. Hodgins. I'd like to get back to the lab and regroup."

The sun outside was warm and invigorating after the dismal and hopeless search of the ward. Cam closed her eyes, tilting her face towards it and inhaling the scent of freshly mown grass. _It may be Pelant's game, but it's still my lab_. They would recall the remains of Krane and Johannsen and begin with fresh eyes. It was the only way to find the truth.

"Dr. Saroyan!"

_You have got to be kidding me_, Cam thought angrily. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring at a rapidly approaching and clearly furious Special Agent Hayes Flynn. The sight of his smug face and perfectly pressed grey suit was the last thing she needed. To her right, she noticed Hodgins and Angela at the corner of the hospital, frozen in confusion.

"Agent Flynn," Cam said calmly. "I didn't expect you to join us today. I know how valuable your time is."

He closed the gap between them, intentionally standing a mere 15 inches away from her. Typical macho intimidation tactics. Cam knew them well from the police days of her career. _Water off this duck's back, Flynn. Try harder_.

"I came out here to find out precisely why the manpower of my team is being wasted on revisiting this institution. The Sawyer case has already been investigated by the Jeffersonian. A warrant has been issued." His voice dripped with disdain, the mere mention of the Jeffersonian seeming to repulse him.

"_My team_," Cam corrected, "was instructed by Assistant Director Andrew Hacker to seek more evidence in the case. No matter how strong of a circumstantial case there may currently be, the prosecutors would like something more concrete. You are aware of what happened the last time a Brennan was placed on trial on circumstantial evidence?"

Flynn seethed, his fist curling and uncurling at his side. Cam noted Hodgins taking two steps closer, his posture guarded. The gesture of solidarity was appreciated but unnecessary. Cam had taken down men twice Flynn's size and wouldn't hesitate to throw him if threatened.

"I fail to see what can be found here that was not already uncovered by Seeley Booth. Unless, of course, you are indicating that his work is not thorough, which would be something I would need to communicate to his review panel." The threat was clear and dead serious. "Now, your team will pack up and leave, or I will have the Jeffersonian removed from the case entirely."

"You can't do that!" Angela shouted, Hodgins throwing out an arm to block her advance.

"Actually, he can," Cam said calmly.

"Agent Flynn, I need to collect soil samples from Ethan's point of exit," Hodgins insisted.

"No, you don't. Get in your van," Flynn hissed.

Hodgins stepped forward, smirking. "Well sir, I'm certain that Assistant Director Hacker would appreciate the particulate evidence. It may correspond to the killer's clothing or shoes. If Dr. Brennan did, indeed, kill Ethan by luring him away, the clothing seized with that FBI warrant executed at her home could be compared alongside those items." With a shrug, he added, "I'm content to ignore Assistant Director Hacker's request if Dr. Saroyan says so, but I feel we should listen to your boss. Dr. Saroyan, why don't we give him a call?"

Flynn huffed angrily. "I could have you off of this case, Dr. Hodgins."

"Like I care. I'm filthy rich and you live paycheck to paycheck." Hodgins gestured to Angela with a flourish. "And my wife is rich by association. The Jeffersonian, however, would be terribly distraught to lose our services entirely, as well as the generous contributions of Cantilever."

_I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear my entomologist blackmail a Federal Agent_, Cam told herself. Instead, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and began scrolling through her recent contacts. Flynn's hand shot out, grabbing hers.

"Collect the soil samples and then leave," he grumbled. "This is my case. I will instruct you further as to how to proceed."

"I appreciate your cooperation, Agent Flynn," Cam chirped happily, pocketing her phone. "Dr. Hodgins, please collect those samples for us."

"Yes, Dr. Saroyan," Hodgins replied, Angela following him around the corner.

It was a standoff now between two alpha personalities: they remained silent, glaring at each other on the sidewalk outside the institution. The skin of his neck flushed with anger and Cam fought the urge to smile. _Aw, someone doesn't like not getting his way. Buddy, I have a teenager daughter. You're a kitten in comparison._

"In future, I will be advised of all avenues of investigation the Jeffersonian wishes to pursue," Flynn said at last. "You will report all findings to me immediately. Is that understood, Dr. Saroyan?"

"And you will never refer to _my_ staff as _your_ team again," Cam countered. "We collaborate with the FBI. We are not FBI employees. We are scientists and experts who have earned a level of respect that will be afforded us. Is that understood?"

Flynn didn't respond, storming off towards his SUV instead. Perhaps that in and of itself was a form of response. A favourable one, in Cam's books.

"Always a pleasure, Agent Flynn," she whispered after him.

* * *

_**Yeah, I hate Flynn. Residual Dollhouse rage. Any theories on why Berman tried to see Ethan?  
**_

_**Next time, we time jump a bit. In the mix: Hodgela; Booth's review hearing; more pieces of the puzzle; and another new face lending a hand.  
**_


	9. Chapter 9

**_AN: Time jump! We're moving ahead to day 20. I'll let Dr. Hodgins explain the situation to you all. There's a lot going on in the world of the Jeffersonian. Fade in from commercial!  
_**

**_This early update is for threesquares, who's a review superstar!  
_**

**_MUSIC: For those new to my work, I usually have a writing soundtrack that I reference in every chapter. This time, I've found myself spinning entire albums or artist shuffles that "fit". If you'd like to know what I'm writing to in general, hit the end notes. THIS CHAPTER: Symbolistic White Walls - Matthew Good Band; Good Little Robot - Future History; Synthetica - Metric  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**1713601 Seconds**

Jack Hodgins liked to think of himself as a far more relaxed man since the birth of his son. All encounters with his intimidating yet strangely genius father-in-law aside, Michael's birth had given him a more peaceful focus in life. Angela was his complement, the loving free spirit that coaxed him into abandoning cynicism and paranoia for moments of joy and living in the present. He no longer assumed the worst of anyone involved in Federal agencies simply by nature of association.

As he ran a soil sample through the mass spectrometer, that old irritation seeped into his mind. He knew a bullshit diversion when he saw one, and this case was it.

After butting heads in front of Hinsdale, Flynn had made it his mission to deluge the Jeffersonian lab with simplistic cases beneath their expertise. There was a straightforward drive-by shooting that took all of a day to solve. Then there was a murder-suicide that Flynn insisted was a double-murder, raking their evidence over the coals until even Daisy wanted to strangle him. A week was lost to that ludicrous exercise, for which he'd had little to work with beyond the usual maggots and flies of decomposition.

Today's case: an elderly woman found half-eaten by her cats at the foot of her stairs, her leg broken. While there was a valid concern about homicide – her son was a creep and set to inherit half a million dollars – the evidence itself was so painfully routine that even the "Tech-In-A-Box" morons of the Bureau could get it right. Booth would never bring a case like this to them. No, this was Flynn taking advantage of his position and power-tripping.

Hodgins sucked in a deep breath, holding it as he counted to five. As tempting as it was to slug the idiot in his face, Dr. Brennan would never get a fair shake without the Jeffersonian on deck. _If we could only find the time to work the damn case…_

"Have a moment?"

Hodgins turned around, smiling. "For you? Always."

Angela smiled briefly, her face clouding over anew. "I'm waiting on Cam and Clark so I thought I'd swing by and see if you wanted to go visit Michael with me."

"Mass spec's running," Hodgins replied. "Give me a minute?"

Angela pulled over a chair, slumping into it and toying with a small tear in the leather arm rest. Her despondency broke his heart, particularly since there was absolutely nothing he could do. Angela missed Dr. B. fiercely and seeing Booth's ashen face each evening was particularly hard on her. No one had been more privy to the slow evolution of Booth and Brennan's relationship. No one had fought harder to help them connect and find joy. Anger and sorrow alternated rapidly in her eyes these days, and it worried Jack deeply. Angela wasn't built for negativity.

"Like I thought: standard issue household dirt, with absolutely nothing remarkable to report," Jack sighed. He tapped a few keys and forwarded the analysis to Cam. "Let's go get our son."

Angela nodded, stretching out her hand. "Sure."

He pulled her gently to her feet and into his arms, holding her as she trembled. _Fighting the urge to cry again_. He knew her moods, knew every tell-tale sign. His fingers tangled in her hair, massaging her scalp as he knew she enjoyed.

"Shh, I'm here."

Angela sniffled. "I'm sorry. I don't even have post-partum for an excuse anymore."

"No, you have the loss of your best friend to grieve. That's not an excuse; it's a reason." Pulling back, he cupped her chin. "Babe, it's okay to be upset."

Angela nodded, but she didn't believe him. The powerlessness was suffocating him. He'd contemplated whisking her away to Paris for an extended vacation but he knew she'd never leave Booth alone. Not in the state he was in these days.

"Michael," Jack whispered.

They made their way silently to the daycare, Angela clinging to Michael as Jack signed him out for a half-hour walk in the gardens. Kiss after kiss was planted on his chubby cheeks and Jack knew Angela was again in Booth's shoes, imagining her child disappearing into the night. With a nudge, he maneuvered her outside, hoping the floral displays would improve her mood.

Twenty days. They seemed an eternity. They seemed far too short to have already contracted Dr. Edison to replace Brennan. Life in the Medico-Legal Lab was contradiction, a paradox.

They settled on a bench near a cluster of _Calluna vulgaris_, Michael mesmerized by the wind rustling through the shrub. Angela held him on her lap, gently bouncing her knee up and down.

"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?"

Angela frowned, eyes fixed on the ground. "I don't think I can do it anymore."

"Do what, Ange?"

"Work here. Be Flynn's little pet reconstruction artist. Fight against the tidal wave of evidence trying to drown Bren." She shook her head. "I want to quit the Jeffersonian, Jack. Stay home with Michael."

"Babe, I know it's hard for you right now. We're all fed up, but she's your best friend—"

"I almost slugged Clark!" she blurted out in frustration. "He hasn't done anything wrong, but just the sight of him working at _her_ table made me so _angry_."

Michael whimpered, startled by her raised voice. Quickly, Jack took him from her, pointing out the nearby _Ulex minor_. The change in scenery did the trick and their son quickly settled down.

"Sorry," she whispered sadly.

"It's okay."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her hand resting on his thigh. "I'm serious. I want to help Bren, but I'm suffocating here. Under Flynn, I'm back to feeling like all I do is make death masks, and I keep going back to what you said to him about not needing the job…"

"Look: if you truly can't stay, then I support that choice. I just think you should think this through before taking action. Cam's on our side. We have angles to explore still and you're the best at what you do. If anyone can crack the code, it's you."

"Then no one can crack it," she grumbled. "I've tried, Hodgins."

"You're running on empty. We all are. We'll get it done." He rested his head on hers, inhaling her jasmine shampoo and the unique faint-citrus scent that was Angela. "Consider just taking a stress leave. No one would deny that right now."

Michael cooed and clapped as a butterfly landed on a nearby blossom. Jack smiled, envious of that feeling of awe and discovery his son was experiencing. Freedom seemed so distant under the Flynn regime.

"I love you," Angela whispered.

"I love you, too. Always."

The trilling of Angela's cell phone startled them both, Angela's hand fumbling in her purse for the tiny device. Glancing at the display, her eyes widened and she jammed on the answer key.

"Angela Montenegro." She listened to the caller, a small smile tugging the corners of her mouth from their gloom. "Yes, thank you so much. I'll be right there."

"Good news?" Jack asked as she hung up.

"Possibly. The library's finally reconstructed their entire system including borrower records." She leaned over and kissed Michael gently. "If we're lucky, no one's borrowed Pelant's virus-loaded books since he had them-"

"Which would build a strong case for a violation of house arrest conditions. Angela, that's great!"

"No jumping the gun, sweetie. I need the records before we do a happy dance on his parole approval." She kissed him passionately, leaving him dizzy. "I'll be back in an hour or two at most."

"Uh huh."

Angela giggled. "Quit drooling, that's Michael's job."

Jack grinned. "Make me."

"Tonight, if you're lucky," she demurred. "Thank you for listening to my soap opera of self-pity."

"Anytime, Ms. Montenegro."

He watched her leave, a spring in her step that he hadn't noticed for weeks. Cradling Michael closer, he rose to his feet, shuffling side to side then dipping him backwards quickly, earning hearty laughter.

"Let's hope Mom finds something good, buddy."

Michael clapped and grinned in agreement.

* * *

**1700491 Seconds**

Review hearings made Booth's skin crawl.

There was something about the thought of being stared at by a trio of typically angry bosses in that dark conference room that sent his nerves into overdrive. War-torn countries were scary but exhilarating, with a sense of accomplishment. There was an opportunity to succeed, to make a positive outcome happen.

Review hearings were lose/lose: even if you were cleared to return to duty, there were so many consequences and conditions that one was really on a paid working suspension. In his case, it would likely be desk work.

_Hello, Dante, here's your inferno_.

Deputy Director Cullen, Assistant Director Hacker and some other social worker type were the panel today and their taut faces betrayed their decision's overall tone: bad. Very, very bad. Perhaps a termination sort of bad.

He'd admittedly given the Bureau several large incidents to work with prior to throwing a suspect through a pane of glass and taking his foot to his ribs. Luck and a stellar solve rate could only carry you so far.

"Seeley, after careful deliberation of the evidence and statements from your coworkers, Mr. Pelant, and Ms. Julian, it is the determination of the Bureau that you be returned to duty. You will be restricted to desk duty pending a full psychiatric assessment as to your fitness to work in the field. Your service piece will not be returned at this time," Cullen stated.

Booth winced. He'd expected as much – but Cullen wasn't finished yet. That worried him.

With a sigh, Cullen continued. "Further, it has been determined that you will no longer be able to work with the Jeffersonian, should Dr. Temperance Brennan return to her duties there. It has been decided – at least at this time – that you are incapable of keeping your professional duties and ethics at the forefront of your mind in the field due to your personal relationship."

"Sir, if I may—"

"No, you may not," Hacker snapped.

"Hacker," Cullen cautioned. "This decision may be appealed in the future. For now, Special Agent Flynn will remain the liaison with the Jeffersonian until your psychiatric evaluation is completed. Due to potential conflict of interest, Agent Flynn has expressed that it would be best if said evaluation was not conducted by Dr. Lance Sweets."

_Resist the urge to murder Flynn_, he ordered himself. _Resist the urge to turn this table over and throw a chair against the wall. _

"Dr. Miranda Duritz will be conducting your evaluation," Cullen continued, gesturing to the woman on his right. "You will see her twice weekly for no less than six weeks. Do you understand the conditions of this reinstatement procedure?"

Booth nodded silently. _Twelve hours of psychological study by a woman with a permanent scowl. You can do this for Bones. You can stay in the system_.

"Our meeting is adjourned then. Agent Shaw has an assignment you can assist her with as soon as your reports are caught up." Cullen rose to his feet slowly, shaking his head. "I don't like this anymore than you do, Agent Booth. You've left us no choice."

Hacker hung back, allowing Dr. Duritz and Cullen to exit the room before him. With a grimace, Hacker pulled Booth's badge from his breast pocket and handed it to him.

"I have to look impartial," he whispered. "Understand?"

Booth nodded slowly.

"We know her. We know better. I'm doing what I can."

With that admission, Andrew Hacker shoved the door, exiting the conference room with a surly expression.

Booth leaned against the wall, mulling this knowledge. _Hacker still cares about her. I can't punch him for it if he's helping her_. Booth sensed that Cam might have answers about what sort of help Hacker was providing, but he was still irrationally enraged at her eager disclosure of evidence to Flynn.

The decree that he and Bones would no longer be able to work together was a knife in the heart. She was his balance in the field, the rational mind relentless in a pursuit of objective truth. She brought him down when emotions ran high. _Hell, she's the real reason our solve rate is sky high._ Without her, he was a good agent, but not remarkable. _But I can appeal_, he remembered. _We can fight it, once we're together again_.

He glanced at his watch, his mind whirring with calculations. _Nineteen days, sixteen hours, thirty-one minutes_. He would count each and every minute until his family came home. In a world ruled by chaos, it was his constant. Time marched on against his will, and he would mark its passing. To not notice would be to dishonor their love for each other.

The vibration of his cell phone caught his attention and he reached into his pocket hurriedly, foolishly half-hoping to hear Bones on the other end.

"Booth."

"Hey, it's me. Good time to talk?"

"Of course Angela," he replied, leaning against the table. "What's up?"

"Are you back in the Special Agent saddle?"

Booth sighed. "Sort of. Desk jockey until the shrink signs off on my sanity. Banned from working with Bones. It's been a shitty day, so give me some good news."

"What? Ugh, we'll drink it out tonight. I have good news you aren't supposed to know, so let's meet up with Caroline and get her input."

"I'll slip out now."

"Welcome back to the system, Agent Studly."

Booth chuckled. "Thanks, Angela."

* * *

They convened in Caroline's office, Booth bringing coffee to lull the prosecutor into submission. Burned by her impending disciplinary hearing over the purported bribe she took from Bones, Caroline was wary.

"Cher, the last thing I ought to be doing right now is hearing _anything_ about this damn case!"

"C'mon Caroline. You can't possibly tell me that you would be content with not knowing why Angela's grinning. A secret from the mighty Ms. Julian?" Booth teased.

"Alright, alright! Spill the canary you've swallowed, Ms. Montenegro. Make it fast," Caroline relented.

Angela pulled a stack of papers from her purse, laying several of them out across the desk. "So the library branch that delivered Pelant's books finally recovered their full records after the code crashed the entire network. I went over to see who'd been borrowing the books with the code and discovered something very interesting." Tapping a specific sheet, she grinned. "Pelant screwed up."

Caroline sipped her coffee with a satisfied hum. "I like this story you're spinning. Keep going."

"Pelant replaced the coded labels on the books with his own special programs," Angela continued. "But by removing those labels, he removed the code that tells the library that the book is back in stock and available for pick-up. Because of an issue with system communication, the mobile service didn't notice his accumulating fines. Since the books were never returned on the official record, it made it very easy for the library to tell me if anyone borrowed them afterwards."

Booth tapped the page in front of him, which was a sea of alphanumeric codes. "And?"

"None of the books were borrowed again after Pelant messed with them, except one," Angela chirped. "When they scanned the book to sign it out at the counter, Pelant's pet project really did not like it. The system crashed and the book was signed out manually." Flipping to a photocopied form, Angela handed it to Caroline. "Check out the name on that."

Caroline grinned. "Ezra Krane. Oh, I like this."

"Whoa, Krane signed out a book with this sneaky sabotaged code? And you're sure no one signed out the other books manually or otherwise."

Angela nodded. "I triple-checked. Not a one. These books he borrowed, they aren't high demand. Most of them are older reference titles. Which brings me to Caroline's expertise: isn't this enough to nail him for hacking during house arrest? Only he could have inserted the codes! If someone before him had done it, the book wouldn't have signed out for Pelant's usage. No one has had them since."

Caroline mulled this over carefully. "Perhaps. He didn't use a computer, which makes proving it difficult. He's exploited a hole in the conditions of his house arrest, but did he violate it? I'm not certain."

"The codes fetch CIA logins and passwords, Caroline," Booth said. "FBI too, I imagine, since an email sent to me went AWOL."

"Pelant knows everything you know," Angela mumbled.

Caroline shook her head. "This is bad. I'm off the case, which severely limits what I'm able to do here. Does Flynn know any of this?"

Angela shook her head. "Only you two know. To me, this is proof of him hacking government information. I would testify to it in detail."

"And his new job will testify to his _glowing_ performance and attendance," Caroline grumbled. "But the Krane angle… I suppose you could leverage a further connection with Pelant as a reason to dig back into Johannsen and Krane. Try and tie him to Sawyer that way."

Booth nodded. "It's probably your best bet. Another question, Caroline: is there any way for the Jeffersonian to give the code on Sawyer's wall to Sweets?"

"No, Cher. He's off the case, and so are you."

"Why Sweets?" Angela asked.

"He has access to a resource that Pelant wouldn't see coming," Booth replied cryptically. "Could someone on the case meet with a resource?"

Caroline shrugged. "As long as it was done in the open, I don't see why not."

"Booth?"

"I'll fill you in Angela when I've worked it out."

"As much as I love you two, I have a mountain of paperwork to take care of and this coffee's not enough of a kick to keep me going," Caroline said, ushering them to the door. "Good luck to you, and remember what I said, Ms. Montenegro."

Angela sighed as she gathered up her documents. "I know."

"And you, Seeley Booth: call Dr. Saroyan. Enough with the tantrums," Caroline chastised him.

Booth rolled his eyes. _Of course Cam's complained to her_. With a reluctant nod, he followed Angela out of the office and jammed the call button for the elevator.

"So, what's the resource?" Angela asked.

"I promised Sweets to keep it quiet for now."

"You know I can convince Daisy to pry it out of him, don't you?"

Booth glared at her. "Please don't. If Daisy knows, Flynn will know in three seconds. We can't afford that, especially if Pelant's been reading Bureau emails."

The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside, the two of them the sole passengers. An uncomfortable silence fell over them as Booth stared at the floor indicator light. At the ground level, the elevator halted, the doors opening with a slight shudder.

"Fine," Angela said. "But you're buying dinner tonight, G-Man."

Booth smiled. "Deal."

* * *

**1717801 Seconds**

"There must be some error!" the man protested, jerking his arm free.

"You need to calm down," the orderly stated firmly. "We're just moving you to another room."

"A nicer one," added the second orderly. "Although how you cleared this transfer request, I don't know," he added with a hint of disgust.

The man twisted his arms free of their grasp, latching onto the bed frame in desperation. He was well aware of the gravity of this situation. He had carefully calculated all parameters and concluded that it was most important that he remain in his current dwelling.

"Shouldn't this be up to me, as the patient?" the man insisted. "I declare such a proposition foolhardy for all concerned, yourselves included. I prefer this room, thank you."

"You can take it up with the doctor in the morning," the taller orderly snapped, yanking on his arm. "Now, come on! I'll sedate you if I have to. John, grab his legs."

Probabilities shifted in his mind, odds recalculated for all courses of action. _New approach_. With a groan, he waved away his would-be predators.

"Fine, fine! Allow me to collect my books," he said.

In his voice lay a false sense of defeat, which proved satisfactory in maintaining a safe distance between them. Picking up his books from the windowsill, the man knew what to do. He turned slowly, smiled at the men – and then slammed the books into John's face, listening for the break in his nose.

"Son of a bitch!" John wailed. "Grab him!"

The other orderly wrenched his arm behind his back, sending sharp waves of pain up into his shoulder. He winced unwillingly, allowing himself to be dragged down the hallway towards the room most patients dreaded.

"Screw orders. High or low security, striking staff is a one-way ticket to solitary, asshole!"

The man knew this. He'd counted on it. The lack of exercise would be tedious but survival was paramount.

A metal door swung open and the man found himself flung to the ground, landing with a dull thud on the ground. The orderly spat at him, shaking his head in disgust.

"Crazy bastard. Enjoy your stay in the Presidential Suite."

"I don't know what that means," the man murmured as the door was shut and bolted.

Beyond the door, he heard the orderly conferring with his wounded friend, John. John had never been a kind man, but the violence he'd had to inflict was unfortunate. He would eventually apologize. Not tonight.

"How the hell did he get the drop on you?" John's friend asked him.

The man settled on the bed in the corner of the room, his hands folded upon his lap.

"I learned from the best," he whispered, and smiled.

* * *

_**Who might this calculating man be? What do we think about the Krane connection?  
**_

_**Team Hacker. Wow, never been that before.  
**_

_**Things are about to get intense during the next few chapters. You don't want to delay reading the next update (should be Monday or Tuesday). Trust me.  
**_

**MUSIC LOVERS: KEEP READING**

**Unlike my usual "pick 300 songs specifically fitting moments like a soundtrack" approach, I've found entire albums or artists just "working". Here's what I've been spinning as I write:**

Matthew Good (Band): Primarily, I've been spinning his album Hospital Music, which is perfection. I've also been latched onto several songs in particular (more below)

Muse: The Resistance, Absolution and HAARP albums. If you want to see a fanvid I made for season 7's finale set to Resistance, look me up on youtube: turnoffthetv. Key songs will come up.

Metric: Fantasies and Synthetica are particularly inspiring, although Monster Hospital's also in the shuffle.

Future History: an incredible indie band from Toronto I've just discovered, and their debut Loss/Self is pitch-perfect for this fic. Love it.

Nash: The Death Of Reason is also a great album and good for the more "sassy" moments/Squinty bonding.

Placebo: Sleeping With Ghosts album mostly, with a few other tunes.

Misc other great songs!_  
_

**Previous Chapters _  
_**

One: The World Is Darker - Neverending White Lights; (Don't)Let This Go - Future History; Hey You - Pink Floyd

Two: Keep On Tryin' - Poco; Run Baby Run - Garbage; Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) - Florence + The Machine

Three: Pusher - Blind Melon; Murder Incorporated - Bruce Springsteen; The Man Comes Around - Johnny Cash

Four: On Nights Like Tonight - Matthew Good; Running Up That Hill - Placebo; Wake Up - Arcade Fire

Five: Youth Without Youth - Metric; Sad Robot Harmonies - Nash; Uprising - Muse

Six: Crayon & Ink - Allison Crowe; My Love Will Not Let You Down - Bruce Springsteen; Surrounded By Faces - Future History

Seven: Buffalo Seven - Matthew Good; Good Intentions - Toad The Wet Sprocket

Eight: The Fall Of Man - Matthew Good Band; No Light, No Light - Florence + The Machine; Knights of Cydonia - Muse


	10. Chapter 10

**_AN: Day 21... Things are about to get very, very interesting. Please read this chapter while seated.  
_**

**_ANON REVIEWER WHO OFFERED FRESH PRODUCE: I love you. I love your review. It brightened my whole afternoon! Please, grab an account so I can love you and babble about Z-Man via PM, or hit me up on Twitter.  
_**

**_MUSIC CUES: Can't Get Shot In The Back If You Don't Run - Matthew Good; Speed The Collapse - Metric; You're Not Here - Melissa Williamson  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**1793462 Seconds**

It was his first full day back on duty and only two hours in, Booth was bored to tears.

There were outstanding reports for simple cases to file and a report outstanding from the Sawyer case that needed corrections and final approval. There were about eighty emails – none from Dr. Yeung – to catch up on to, with several marked urgent and numerous others demanding an actual reply. The cherry on top of the bullshit sundae, however, was the five-page booklet Dr. Duritz expected him to complete _today_ in anticipation of their first mandatory session _tomorrow_.

His only anchor to sanity was the picture on his desk of his family: Parker, Christine, himself and Bones. _They_ were the reason he needed to join the Bureau's reindeer games. _They_ were why he couldn't shove the booklet straight up Duritz's snooty behind.

There was a tremendous advantage to being back on duty, however: access to Bureau resources. As Booth wrote the bare minimum for a shooting he'd assisted on several weeks ago, Charlie was working the tech angle of things and trying to figure out what happened to the email he should have received from the professor. Innocent and contrite, he diligently completed his backlog, while his trusted friend did a little "off the record" digging. He could tell that his mere presence threatened Flynn; the smug bastard had walked past his office three times already with a permanent scowl.

_He's just waiting for a reason to have you fired_, Booth reminded himself. _Keep your cool_.

A _rat-tat-tat_ on the door pulled him from his monotonous detailing of suspect descriptions and Booth waved Charlie inside. Charlie closed the door behind him, scanning the hallway before settling nervously into the chair opposite Booth. It made his blood run cold: Charlie didn't spook easily.

"You got something for me?"

Charlie nodded. "I have good news and bad news, and also horrible news. What do you want first?"

"Let's start positive."

Charlie nodded. "Alright, the good news is that I was able – with an unusual amount of effort – to track down the traces of the deleted email. Without that, I wouldn't be able to tell you anything. Unfortunately, the good news ends there."

"Figured as much," Booth grumbled.

"I backtraced it as far as I could, but whoever deleted the email did so remotely, and used a series of switch-proxies behind a firewall. Long story short: I couldn't narrow it down beyond the eastern United States." Charlie shook his head. "Whoever did this seriously knew their stuff. They definitely do not want to be found."

Booth sighed. _It had to be Pelant. No one working from the inside would go to so much trouble_. "And the horrible news?"

Charlie hesitated. "Well… Change your credentials, Booth. You've been accessed at least four times in the last six weeks alone. Whoever did this has been playing in your inbox often enough to be concerned."

"Shit! I was afraid of that." His hand slammed down on the desk in frustration and Charlie jumped in the chair.

"Anything else you need?"

Booth shook his head. "No, Charlie. Thank you for doing this and keeping it between us."

"Sure, Booth. I'm down the hall if you need me."

Booth leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities. _Six weeks… All of our correspondence prior to Pelant's hearing… All of our preliminary work on the Sawyer case… Hell, anything saved in folders was there for the taking. This is bad. _He tapped his pen erratically against the desk, mulling his next option. _I can't trust the Bureau if there's someone being blackmailed by Pelant. Flynn is useless. Cam won't keep this to herself. _Booth could change his own credentials easily enough with a simple request, but there was a very real possibility that everyone was compromised: Cullen, Flynn, Hacker –

_Hacker_. He was on their side. Booth could read people well, and the solidarity was sincere. Hodgins and Angela had mentioned an email from Hacker authorizing further investigation over Flynn's head, which supported his gut instincts. Picking up the phone, he hit a preset and waited.

"Andrew Hacker."

"I need to meet with you about an urgent matter," Booth said. "When can I come to your office?"

Andrew hesitated, flipping papers. "I'm free for the next twenty minutes and then slammed until four. Can you do it now?"

"Absolutely, sir. Be right there."

Booth gathered up several file folders as a cover story and made his way to the other side of the busy floor. Several agents nodded in respect as he passed; most struggled to conceal looks of suspicion or pity. _Doesn't matter. They'll find out the truth_. Hacker's door was open when he reached it and he rushed inside, shutting the door abruptly and dropping the files on his desk.

"They're cover, ignore them," Booth said.

Hacker tilted his head askance. "What's this about?"

Booth took a deep breath, steadying himself before beginning to speak. "Sir, my email was broken into by an unknown outside source several times over the last six weeks. A lot of confidential material has effectively been compromised."

"Damn it," Hacker muttered. "You're certain?"

"Emails sent to me were deleted before I could read them, for starters. I confirmed this with our tech department." Booth grimaced, mulling the larger problem and how best to break the bad news. "There's more."

Hacker leaned back in his chair. "Why do I think you're about to ruin my entire day?"

"Because I am. Welcome to Hell, where I've been living for the last three weeks. The Jeffersonian has confirmed the existence of a code almost certainly planted by Pelant that is capable of retrieving credentials for the CIA and possibly the FBI. I suspect this is how I was compromised."

"What? Credentials? Are we talking names here, or –"

"Logins, passwords, UPS tracking numbers. The works, Hacker."

Andrew shoved aside several papers strewn over his keyboard, launching his email application. With a few quick clicks, Booth recognized the steps: he was requesting a credential change. Cursing under his breath, he rose and slowly paced.

"There's more, isn't there?" he asked quietly.

Booth nodded. "I think Pelant's got an inside man. Perhaps he blackmailed someone with information from their email account. I don't know. I just know that this sort of Federal chaos is his specialty and having an insider would explain his ability to stay a jump ahead of us at every turn."

"What's your evidence?"

"The Jeffersonian has enough to point a solid finger at Pelant. They've replicated the actions of the code."

Hacker nodded. "Have they told Flynn?"

"Not yet, although I'm told he'll be notified today. The final pieces came together yesterday and I wanted to confirm the matter when I came in today."

Hacker sat silently, eyes glazed over. Booth remained silent, understanding that whatever course of action Hacker chose, it had to be carefully executed. When he spoke at last, Booth knew that he'd trusted the right person.

"I am going to notify Cullen that I've received intel of a potential attempt at obtaining FBI credentials and recommend a Bureau-wide reset and change. He's so frustrated with the Sawyer case and the media circus that he'll do anything I say without actually listening to me. You," he continued, "are going to investigate this breach and possible insider off the books. And by off the books, I mean that you aren't allowed to investigate anything right now, so be a ninja about it. If you find anything else, bring it to me directly."

Booth almost agreed, then had a thought. "No offense Hacker, but how do I know that you're not Pelant's insider?"

Hacker chuckled. "A very good point. I'm not, but you know what? Don't tell me a thing until you have absolutely have to – like, say, if you're busted snooping into things. Fair?"

"Thanks. I'll go back to my game of paperwork Jenga now."

Booth picked up his stack of folders and papers, shuffling them around lest anyone notice they'd been untouched during the meeting. With a nod, he opened the door, feigning exasperation as he returned to his office. Let everyone believe that he and Hacker were at odds. If Pelant had Bureau eyes, he'd make sure he didn't tip his hand.

* * *

**1799601 Seconds**

Hodgins crossed the street towards the Royal, replaying the phone call in his mind. There had been no exchange of pleasantries, no real greeting, no meandering chat. Just a simple request to meet in an hour at the Royal and come alone. It was completely out of character, but then again, everything about the Jeffersonian felt out of character now. Angela had chosen to take three days off for personal reasons and Hodgins was proud of her for looking after her own needs for a change. Michael was at daycare and she was hopefully lounging in the bath or watching lousy TV on the couch.

He stepped aside and allowed an elderly couple to exit before entering the diner and scanning the tables. Finding the caller, he casually walked over to the rear table and took a seat opposite him.

"Sweets."

"Thanks for coming, Dr. Hodgins," the lanky young doctor said. "I don't trust my phone right now after what Agent Booth told me."

"That explains the call," Hodgins replied. "You okay man?"

Lance Sweets shrugged, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'm pissed off at Flynn for questioning my professional opinion and throwing me off the case. I spend every day waiting for someone else to get hurt or framed for something. There's been other issues but I've finally resolved one, which is where you come in."

Hodgins felt incredibly confused. "Speak English. What's going on?"

Sweets glanced around before leaning closer, lowering his voice. "It took a lot of work, but I managed to obtain access to a resource that may break this wide open. I'm off the case, so my hands are pretty tied. I need you to gather up materials and deliver them for me."

"What materials?"

"A copy of the code on the wall and the books and journal articles Dr. Yeung provided Agent Booth with. He gave you those this morning, correct?"

Hodgins nodded. "I left them at home to keep them secure. Where am I taking these things, M.?"

Sweets slipped a folded piece of paper across the table. "Your mission, Bond."

Hodgins opened the paper slowly, staring at the doctor's neat handwriting. It wasn't possible…

"Dude, how?"

Sweets smiled. "I mentioned Dr. Brennan's current situation. Strong sense of loyalty."

"When?"

"Anytime you're able."

Hodgins grinned. "You're fun when you're flouting rules, Sweets."

Sweets was also pleased. "I know. Now go tell Cam a story and make contact."

* * *

Back at the Jeffersonian, Cam Saroyan was contemplating smashing her telephone during a tedious and awkward conference call. After weeks of dismissive emails and calls from Agent Flynn, Cam was fed up with his refusal to pursue the Berman angle. In a dirty move, she'd arranged for this call with Flynn and Deputy Director Cullen – one step short of tattle-tale behavior.

_He asked for it_.

"Let me get this straight: Sophia Berman is the daughter of a man who committed suicide after being defrauded by a CI," Cullen said.

"That's correct, sir," Cam replied.

"This CI was one of the files in the room where the remains of the Danish woman were found," he continued.

"Again, correct."

"Prior to Dr. Sawyer's death, she attempted to gain access to him at Hinsdale under false pretenses, which leads the Jeffersonian to believe that not only is Berman a person of interest with respect to the previous murders, but Sawyer's death as well," Cullen concluded.

"Yes, sir. We feel she should be questioned with respect to her attempt to visit Dr. Sawyer, as well as further questioning about her father's passing and contact with Ezra Krane prior to his death," Cam stated.

"Ms. Berman was already questioned in detail by Agent Booth months ago, and no further action was taken then," Flynn interjected, irate.

"That was before she visited Dr. Sawyer," Cam countered. "She is an IT expert, Deputy Director. She's certainly capable of complicated coding."

Cam held her breath, awaiting Cullen's response. It was a new strategy, one she hoped Flynn couldn't refute. If they couldn't directly go after Pelant, they could go after someone else. _Reasonable doubt, Cam_.

"Agent Flynn, I would like to know why this woman was impersonating a family member to gain access to a man who is now dead," Cullen said at last.

Cam was grateful for the ability to grin without being seen on the other end. If she wasn't afraid of Ms. Wick walking by, she'd likely get up and feign a touchdown spike.

"That's certainly worth bringing Ms. Berman back in for," Flynn agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "I'll make arrangements to have her brought in. The Jeffersonian has noted several times that Dr. Brennan lacks computer programming skills. Perhaps she and Berman were colluding."

Cam fought the urge to scream. Flynn was a dog with a meaty bone, jaws locked tightly around the prize. _At least he'll bring her in_, she reminded herself. It was what they all wanted, and Cullen had forced Flynn to deliver.

"If that's all Dr. Saroyan, I'll let you return to your lab," Cullen said.

"Thank you, Deputy Director. Agent Flynn, I'll send that image and our notes from the witnesses at Hinsdale for your conversation with Ms. Berman."

"That's appreciated."

_No, it's not_, Cam answered silently. _You sound ready to smash every piece of equipment in this lab._ The call ended, she leaned back and sighed. She missed Booth and Brennan. She missed the old routine, the lighthearted camaraderie of the lab. With no further action to take, Clark and Daisy were in Limbo, Angela had taken personal days and Hodgins… _Hmm. Where is Hodgins_?

"Dr. Saroyan?"

_Speak of the devil_. Cam eyed Hodgins, noting his tensed muscles and twitching hands. _Something's up with him_.

"What is it, Dr. Hodgins?"

"I have a personal errand to attend to, if that's alright with you," he said, blatantly forcing himself to sound calm.

"Is everything okay?" Cam asked.

Hodgins nodded. "Absolutely. I've got nothing at my station to work on and you can always reach me on my cell phone if a case comes in."

Whatever the errand, it seemed important to Hodgins. She needed to re-establish goodwill with her staff. _Let him go, Cam_.

"That's fine, Dr. Hodgins. I'll call you if anything comes up."

Cam watched as he half-ran down the corridor and out the main doors of the Medico-Legal Lab. Instinct told her that this was no personal errand, but a perhaps questionable means of pursuing the truth in the Sawyer case. _If he finds something of value, he'll tell me_, she reasoned. Besides, the Lab was quiet – perhaps too quiet. A calm before a storm.

_Might as well enjoy it while it lasts_…

* * *

**1806826 Seconds**

The sound of the key turning in the lock was almost deafening in contrast with the stark silence of the house. It was a stabbing pain in her chest, this concrete image of what life had become. _Bren and Christine are gone_, Angela thought to herself as she stepped inside the foyer of their "mighty hut", as they affectionately called it.

She had tried to relax and unwind, just as Jack had told her to. She'd taken a long shower, moisturized and exfoliated every inch of her skin and watched talk shows while giving herself a long overdue manicure and pedicure. She'd lounged in a silky bathrobe that always felt indulgent – a gift from their time in Paris.

She'd made it to the afternoon before deciding she was ready to snap with nervous energy. Remembering her long-ago promise to Booth and aware that he was running out of clothes to recycle at their place, she'd packed a few cleaning supplies into the car and driven over to their house. Cleaning was strangely therapeutic for Angela. There was a sense of a fresh start in a clean room, a new life just waiting in the wings.

Besides, her place was already spotless and she still felt herself jittering. What else could she do?

She flipped the light switch for the living room, grimacing at the footprints marring the normally pristine floors. Books and knick knacks were askew; furniture was pulled away from walls; and framed photos had been pried opened in search of hidden documents and other treasures. It was no wonder he'd fled this scene of domestic carnage: it was the epitome of what had become of his family, his world.

"Well, Ange, you wanted something to do," she muttered.

The kitchen seemed to be in the best shape on the main floor: a few stacks of dishes remained on the counters and the omnipresent footprints spun circles on the tiles. Setting her supply bag on the counter, she began opening doors and drawers, making her best guesses on where things belonged. Satisfied that everything was out of sight at least, she opened the fridge and began yanking expired food from the shelves and door. Ancient Thai take-out containers, milk, eggs, something that may have been a kiwi fruit, a mushy head of lettuce… Angela grimaced, struggling not to inhale as she pitched items into a large plastic bag. Tying it off, she sat it outside on the porch to deal with later.

_I feel a little better already_, she thought as she sorted books back onto their shelves. _Doing something – anything – for Bren and Booth… it helps_. Humming a tune to herself, she continued to organize Brennan's many books, dusting the shelves as she went.

_Ring!_

Angela paused, glancing towards the kitchen. "Oh God Hodgins, you are _not_ checking up on me!"

After three rings she relented, dropping a stack of books on the desk and retrieving her phone from her purse. With an exasperated sigh, she answered the call.

She nearly dropped the phone when she heard the caller on the other end. Her eyes darted in all directions as the voice continued to speak in a hushed, urgent manner.

_Upstairs. I can go upstairs_, she told herself. She obeyed the caller, terrified of what lay just beyond the suddenly flimsy locks of the Booth and Brennan home. Her feet were light on the steps as she carefully ascended, keeping her body low to avoid being seen from the windows.

"You're coming?" she whispered anxiously.

_Yes_. The caller promised to be there soon. _Wait in the bedroom_.

Angela clutched the phone to her chest as she shut the door behind her and dropped to the floor beside the bed. _Oh God Hodgins, I'm sorry. I should have listened to you and stayed home in bed. I should have eaten ice cream for breakfast and slept and stayed in the safety of your guards and elaborate security system_.

Beneath her feet, she heard a scraping noise and whimpered in spite of herself. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she searched for a makeshift weapon, just in case.

_I love you, Jack. I love you, Michael. Please, someone, help me_…

A deafening boom filled the room, and Angela's world faded to black.

* * *

He'd been stealthy in picking up the books and articles, not wanting to disturb Angela. She'd obviously listened to him and remained in bed, and while she wasn't a light sleeper, she did struggle with daytime naps. No kiss goodbye for him this time. Besides, he had a pressing appointment to keep.

The building was as he remembered it, although it had been some time since he'd seen it – over a year, by his estimation. It wasn't his choice to be absent, but he'd been powerless to protest.

He flashed his identification at the door and was searched, scanned and escorted through a series of corridors to a disproportionately large room with a long table and two chairs. The guard hesitated outside the room, turning back towards him.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely," Jack said, without hesitation.

"If he's violent, shout for help," the guard said solemnly.

_Violent?_

The door was opened before him and Jack entered slowly, his eyes closed. Holding his breath, he slowly forced his eyes open and studied the man seated before him, shackled to the floor. He smiled in greeting as the guard shut the door, leaving them to their semblance of privacy. His hair was long and tangled, his ears hidden beneath the loose curls, but he was otherwise just as Jack remembered him.

"I knew you'd come," Zack Addy said cheerfully. "Just as _he_ knows you've come."

"Who?"

"Pelant," he said calmly. "Sit down, Hodgins. We don't have much time, and I have a great deal to tell you…"

* * *

**_*dodges objects thrown at her head* Don't kill me! Please! I love Angela. Just remember that. I also love Zack and am so glad to have Mr. Addy on Brennan's side, aren't you? We'll pick up right where we left off next chapter with a little (er, a lot) of that research I always say I do. Sweets prepped him well over the last few weeks.  
_**

**_Please review, let me know how I'm doing, comment on who Angela was speaking to... Take wild guesses on what comes next... Random mentions of LOLcats... Whatever you like!  
_**

**_I'm on Twitter. I have two, but one's kinda Toronto-centric and music-loaded. SO:  
_**

**_General Twitter (Randomness, music, pop culture, politics... whatever): emptysthemepark  
Twitter for things fic-ish or novel-ish: dillonac  
_**

**_See you Thursday for our next installment.  
_**


	11. Chapter 11

**_AN: This would be one of those chapters that requires a tissue warning, I am told. *hands box of Kleenex over*  
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**_MUSIC: Paranoid Android - Radiohead; 99% Of Us Is Failure - Matthew Good; Sleeping With Ghosts - Placebo  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
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* * *

**1809920 Seconds**

Jack took the seat across from Zack, sneaking a glance at his hands. In his mind, he could still smell the burning flesh in that lab, feel the misplaced guilt over the monomer. The monomer Zack himself had sabotaged as a means of distracting the team during Gormogon's infiltration of the vault. The monomer that had burned his hands far beyond expectations because he refused to endanger Hodgins. A part of him felt relieved to see that his hands were no longer gloved. The skin was discoloured from the patchwork healing of skin grafts, but otherwise, he looked good. Okay.

"I was surprised when Sweets told me to come," he confessed anxiously.

"I'm aware that my refusal to see anyone from the Jeffersonian has been hurtful," Zack said quietly. "I can only express that it was critical for me to sever all ties to facilitate my continued recovery. It wasn't a personal slight."

Jack knew he was sincere. "But here we are now."

Zack nodded. "Dr. Sweets has been to see me about Dr. Brennan's circumstances. He and Agent Booth felt my mathematical skills would prove valuable in this investigation. I concur with their assessment and want to help Dr. Brennan. I owe her a great deal."

Jack had considered asking Zack for assistance months ago, well aware of his gift for pattern recognition, never mind his mathematical prowess. However, when he'd mentioned it to Sweets, he'd been told that Zack was unwell and in no shape to contribute to anything.

"Sweets said I should bring all of this," he said, sliding over the photocopies and books. "Maybe you can help with the bell curve saliva code. Be King Of The Lab one more time."

Zack nodded, examining the code. "This will take some time and a bit of research, but I feel confident I can provide that. I asked Dr. Sweets to bring you here so I could help with Pelant." At this, he slid forward a notebook of his own. "Christopher Pelant does not think like us. He does not think like me. As improbable as one might believe, Pelant is hyper-rational in a way that eclipses the intellect of myself and Dr. Brennan."

Hodgins nodded. "Yeah Z-Man, we've figured that out. He's playing chess and we're the idiot pawns."

"This is more complex than chess, Hodgins," Zack countered, flipping through his pages. "Dr. Sweets provided me with several pieces of information regarding Pelant and Dr. Sawyer. Extrapolating from that data, I was able to merge that understanding with the academic writings that drive him."

On the page, Hodgins could see a complex flowchart with abbreviated labels and several diagrams, including a series of triangles. None of it was in English, as best he could determine, nor was it Latin. _Coded_. _He's coded his notes_.

Zack tapped the flowchart excitedly. "Dr. Sawyer's textbook, _Principia Mathematica_, is a celebrated text by Sir Isaac Newton, which details his laws of motion. You're aware of this, but please ensure you explain it to Booth. Sawyer not only chose the quote by Alexander Pope to connect the text to the code, but also to suggest the means of finding his code. Light. I admire the eloquence of the message." He slid his finger to a diagram. "I imagine that Dr. Sawyer's code is a structured computer program that will either decode Pelant's personality, given his area of expertise prior to institutionalization, or it will be the code that can destroy Pelant's. In any case, Newton's theories and their connection to artificial intelligence tell me how Sawyer thinks, as well as Pelant. They are two sides of a coin, Hodgins."

Jack felt his head spin in that familiar way from years ago, when Zack would suddenly break a case wide open with a rapid-fire spiel. _He's onto something. He's just warming up_.

"Dr. Sweets stated that Dr. Sawyer believed that Booth and Brennan's daughter was a demon interfering with his work," Zack continued. "I was uncomfortable with this disclosure until remembering that doctor-patient confidentiality is suspended during a murder investigation. These beliefs are oversimplified. Specifically, he believed she was a demon because it was her existence that made Dr. Brennan a target for Pelant."

"Wait, what?" Hodgins shook his head. "How did Christine do anything? She's a baby, Zack!"

"Again, Hodgins, you're simplifying things," Zack replied firmly. "Dr. Sawyer cared for Dr. Brennan. He recognized the infant as a symbol of the romantic relationship between Booth and Dr. Brennan. I would postulate that Pelant originally wished to target Dr. Brennan during the Johannsen and Krane cases, but her pregnancy minimized her field work and thus, he was thwarted from achieving his goals. Pelant enjoys chaos, and mates pose a deeper level of emotional exploitation to toy with." Leaning forward, Zack continued. "Dr. Hodgins, the entire Jeffersonian team is essential for the success the lab enjoys. Any one member could have been a target. Dr. Brennan's pregnancy made her a more enjoyable target; ergo, the infant is evil in Dr. Sawyer's schematic patterns of the world."

"Dude! That… almost makes sense." Hodgins exclaimed. "Now, what about Pelant?"

"Pelant's actions have all been planned according to expected reactions," Zack said, gesturing to his flowchart. "Dr. Sawyer understood the depth to which he plans his behavior rather clearly. The choice of book given to Dr. Brennan was no accident. _Principia Mathematica _is not only a text on Newton's work – which serves as the foundation of absolute space and time and other core laws of physics – but is also the name of a text by Bertrand Russell and Alfred North Whitehead. I prefer the latter text for personal reading, but that isn't relevant." Zack grinned to himself. "The work concerns itself with the understanding of mathematics rooted in principles of logic. It's far too complex to detail quickly, but what you need to know is that the Russell book led to the initial work in the field that would later be known as artificial intelligence."

Hodgins mulled this over for a moment then responded. "So, the Cliff notes version is that Sawyer wants us to consider Newton's Laws of Motion as applied to human behavior as well as Bertrand Russell's work in logic and math in trying to understand Pelant."

"I don't know what Cliff notes are, but yes, that is the gist of it," Zack affirmed. "In 1955, Newell, Simon and Shaw created a computer program that was able to prove 38 of the theorems in Bertrand's text. The program actually provided more eloquent proofs in some cases than human efforts. They called it Logic Theorist."

"Computation alone isn't intelligence, though. It's a glorified calculator," Hodgins countered.

"Hodgins, the program demonstrated an ability to think non-numerically. It solved problems of logic. It was artificial intelligence in its infancy. The program gave rise to other theories of problem-solving within the mind and drove further experiments in artificial intelligence." He shuffled through the papers Hodgins had brought, tapping the photo of Ethan's code. "See? This is a physical symbol system. It's a form of processing, a language. Artificial intelligence."

"So Pelant is a computer, not a genius?"

"He's both," Zack said confidently. "He is a human that believes he is intelligent, but ultimately, he is as predictable as the programs and viruses he designs. He is a virus, Hodgins. He simply needs to be eradicated by understanding the ways he hooks into our system."

Hodgins broke down Zack's theory quickly, absorbing it into his own understanding of Pelant. The cipher on the spine of Inger Johannsen had appeared complex, yet ultimately had a simple 'hook' to it. More telling, Pelant had offered his regards via Booth, certain that he'd enjoy a code. _Pelant knew my family history and anticipated how I would respond_. He thought to Booth's phone call from Brennan – the one that never happened, when traced – and Booth's violent response. _He expected Booth to beat the crap out of him_.

Pelant was a goddamn computer virus in the flesh.

"We've all been reacting just like he thought we would," Hodgins said. "Just like a virus will exploit known holes and scripts in mundane programs within an operating system."

Zack beamed. "You see it now! I knew you would be able to appreciate the information. Dr. Sweets would just press his hand against his head and look frustrated."

Hodgins chuckled. He was absolutely right about that too.

Zack moved on to another area of the flowchart. "Pelant operates in a world of AI-like logic. He has heuristics and consequential programming based on a certain way of life. If the response is not what's predicted, it 'crashes' his program. Everything Pelant does must be examined, the expected reaction calculated and then, you must act in the opposite manner of what's expected. It's the only way to confound him. You already have confounded him, Hodgins. He's angry. Ms. Julian is right: he expected to have the Jeffersonian removed from the case by now. He expected Dr. Brennan to go to jail. You have to anticipate his moves and not let him improve the programming." He paused, contemplating something silently. "Although, I believe he expected Dr. Saroyan to be completely honest with her disclosures. But he expected the actions of Angela, Booth and yourself to remove the lab from the picture."

"Me? What would he expect I'd do?"

"Suspect a grand conspiracy and taint the investigation with paranoia, given your history of anti-establishment thinking," Zack replied.

Jack huffed. "I'm not as focused on that stuff now. I have a family to think about."

"Which reminds me: congratulations on the birth of your son." Before Hodgins could respond, he was off on another tangent. "Your conspiracy theories will actually prove relevant, I think. Given Pelant's history of sabotaging government websites and revealing their secrets, I'm almost certain that there is someone in the FBI who has taken advantage of Pelant and is working with him. Perhaps by encouraging him to believe that they have a shared purpose. Pelant is a believer in the greater good and would tolerate working with an enemy if it benefited him. What this insider does not understand is that Pelant is playing everyone. He believes he is in control but Pelant is still in charge."

Hodgins nodded. "Definitely evidence of that, man. So what do we do now?"

Zack considered this carefully. "Explain this to the others. Use simpler terms for Booth so he doesn't hit you." Hodgins suppressed a chuckle as Zack continued. "Think like Pelant. Find the insider. I'll work on the code and see if I can make it useful."

A knock sounded on the metal door, startling the two men. "Dr. Hodgins, your time is up."

"One minute please!" In a whispered hush, he said, "King Of The Lab, man. I'll be back."

"No," Zack whispered. "You need to get me out of here. Get me transferred."

"Why?"

"I told you: Pelant knows everything. He knows you're here. Last night, they advised me that I would be moved to a lower security ward. That's what happened to Dr. Sawyer, from what I was told."

"Crap. What happened?"

A second knock. "Dr. Hodgins, I'm entering now."

Zack ushered him closer, whispering in his ear. "I hit an orderly. I have 48 hours of protection. Hurry."

_That explains the violence_, Jack thought. With a nod of silent agreement, he rose, waving to the guard.

"I'm sorry sir. It's been a year and change since we've had a chance to speak."

Hodgins flashed a toothy grin, but the guard was unimpressed. _Whatever, man._ He obediently left the room with a final wistful look at Zack Addy, his best friend – even as a murderer.

"Your cell phone's been ringing," the guard noted absently as he passed. "A lot."

Jack felt his stomach bottom out. _That can't be good_. With a hurried half-run, he made his way to the security checkpoint, tapping his foot angrily as he was patted down, wanded and sent through a metal detector to collect his belongings. The display indicated four missed calls in the last five minutes: two unknown and two from the Jeffersonian.

"You can't use that in here!" the guard protested as he began to dial.

"Don't care," Hodgins snapped as he phoned Cam.

The phone rang once, twice… _Something's wrong_. An image of Angela's smiling face came to mind and a sense of dread filled him. _I didn't check on her when I went home. What if something's wrong_? A fourth ring… a fifth…

"Hodgins!" Cam blurted out in greeting.

"Cam, what's wrong?"

With a strangled sob, she confirmed his worst nightmare.

"Angela. George Washington. Hurry!"

* * *

When Jack arrived at the emergency room, he was grateful to find familiar faces awaiting him. Cam and Booth were badgering a nurse for answers while Daisy sat unnaturally silent, tears streaming down her face. Clark held a sleeping Michael, which only worsened his sense of foreboding. _They pulled him from daycare. Why_?

"Hodgins!" Booth shouted, ushering him over.

"Where is she?" he demanded. "What happened?"

The nurse rocked back on her heels. "I'm sorry sir, could I get your name—"

"Where's my goddamn wife?" he screamed. "Angela Montenegro! Where is she?"

Booth placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, chiming in. "She's in surgery. Now could you please get someone to tell the man what's wrong with her?"

"Surgery?" Hodgins felt his legs wobble beneath him. _It's bad. Oh my God, what's happened to her_?

"I'll go find the attending physician," the nurse muttered, rushing off fearfully.

Cam's arm wrapped around his shoulder and Hodgins knew that it was worse than he'd imagined. Cam reserved gestures like these for desperate moments. Like Vincent's death –

_She's going to die_.

"He's going to drop!" he heard Booth shout before his legs collapsed beneath him.

Strong arms lunged, forming a hook beneath his own and dragging him to what felt like a chair. He could hear Daisy sob, heard Cam whimper. Heard the pained sigh from Booth's lips as he struggled to focus on the man crouched in front of him.

"Hodgins, she needs you. Stay with us, buddy."

He shook his head, forcing away the double vision. _My world. My life. I need to see her._

"What happened?" It was scarcely a whisper.

"Angela went over to my house," Booth said. "I guess she was trying to clean up after the search warrant. Just like she promised." He hesitated, swallowing hard. "There was a bomb. In the bedroom."

_A bomb. Pelant. A bomb_.

"Angie?"

"She was very lucky that they had my house staked out," Booth said. "The ambulance was on scene quickly and the agents did a great job as first responders. They took her into surgery immediately."

He sunk his head into his hands, his body shuddering with tears he fought back. _I have to stay calm. I have to wait for the doctor._ He closed his eyes and she was there, smiling at him. Loving him, against all of the odds of his previously miserable love life.

"Montenegro?" a voice called out loudly.

"Here!" Booth shouted, offering his hand.

Jack glanced up expectantly, studying the doctor's face. It was guarded, anxious. This was not a conversation he wished to have. _Michael… He needs his mother. I need her._ He took Booth's hand, allowing himself to be pulled onto his shaky feet.

"I'm Dr. Mason," he said softly, offering a hand to Jack. He ignored it. "Could you follow me please?"

The group followed them in spite of disapproving looks from the doctor. Jack didn't care. This was Angela's family.

_Oh my God. Billy. Has someone told her dad yet?_

They were led into a smaller room, marked with a simple number three. The yellowed fluorescents and standard hospital couches and chairs stunk of sadness and death. He refused to sit on them, remaining standing with Booth at his side.

"Are you Mr. Montenegro?"

"Hodgins," he corrected. "My wife kept her name. Please, I need to see her. I need her."

The doctor hesitated. "I'm afraid you can't see her yet. She's still in surgery. Would you like to sit down?"

"If I wanted to sit, I'd sit. What's wrong with my wife?"

Dr. Mason flipped a page on his clipboard. "Angela was involved in an incident with an explosive device, I am told. She was five feet from the device upon detonation but was partially shielded by furniture in the room. Mr. Hodgins, I'm going to be frank: that furniture is likely the only reason she's still alive."

Jack assimilated this as Booth cursed beneath his breath in frustration. "Is she okay?"

"We rushed her into surgery upon arrival. Angela has suffered a severe break to her left patella, a possible fracture of her left scaphoid as well as severe bruising from the impact. Our primary concern right now is the subdural hematoma and we're operating to control that and alleviate pressure on her brain."

"Will she…" _God, was this really happening?_ "Will she make it?"

The doctor's momentary hesitation was a dagger in his heart. "She's in critical condition. There's a strong chance that we will have to induce a coma to control the swelling and minimize brain damage. Mr. Hodgins, I know this is a tremendous shock, but we are doing all we can for your wife. As soon as she's in recovery, I'll bring you to her."

_Brain damage… critical…_

"Will she make it?" he asked again.

"I don't know for sure," Dr. Mason admitted. "But she's a fighter. She was briefly lucid after the injury, which is a positive sign. I'll return when I know more."

The doctor filed out of the room, shutting the door behind him. This was a death room, a mourning room. Jack understood that. He saw it in Cam's eyes, in Booth's eyes.

He fell to the floor, weeping and powerless.

* * *

One hour. Two. No answers.

Booth sighed, leaning against the wall closest to the door. _This is my fault_, he thought sadly. _If I'd gone home sooner, I would have known. I would have found it. I would have swept the house –_

The search warrant. _How did they miss it_? It was possible that Pelant had planted it after the warrant was executed, but improbable. He'd been under surveillance within that time, suspected of abducting Bones and Christine. If Pelant was looking to strike at him, surely he knew that he'd been staying with Hodgins and Angela. Why bother wasting one of his _toys_?

There would be answers. Booth would demand them.

Hodgins sat silently in a chair, cradling Michael against his chest. Sensing his father's distress, the boy remained quiet, sucking his thumb as he burrowed his tiny face into his shoulder.

_Pelant will pay for what he's done to our families_.

His fists curled at his side and Booth knew he needed air before he smashed several objects in the claustrophobic room. With a jerk of his head and Cam's acknowledgement, he stepped into the hall and stormed towards the main entrance and out into the early evening.

How many times had he walked through these very doors? How many times had he sat in a hospital, waiting for Bones? Waiting to be seen himself? Waiting for Cam not to die from a goddamn poisonous orb in a skull? Their jobs came with heightened risk, but lately, it seemed they were paying a disproportionate price.

_I put them at risk. Me. Letting them in the field, letting them be involved…_

He struck the wall angrily, leaning against it to ease the ache in his lower back. The waiting was the part he hated most. The _not knowing_. He thought back to the explosion in Bones' apartment years ago, remembered that burst of agonizing pain before he was plunged into blackness. Had Angela felt pain? The doctor had said she'd been lucid at first. It was a mental scar that would never fade for her, that he knew. Even now, there were nightmares. Flashes of phantom pain when he opened a fridge. He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy, let alone a dear friend.

_Get it together. Hodgins needs you._

He pushed off the wall, mind intent on a cup of horrible vending machine coffee and badgering nurses some more, but froze as a familiar face walked out the door.

_Sophia Berman_.

She laughed, the restrained chuckle of someone being polite, as she walked alongside a young woman in scrubs. She was oblivious to Booth, his features concealed in the shade of the overhang. His eyes narrowed as he followed them to a nearby vehicle, his blood pressure rising.

_This isn't the hospital she works at. Why is she here_?

He walked purposefully back into the ER, bypassing the waiting room for the information desk. With a half-smile and a flash of his badge, he asked the young blonde where he could find Sophia Berman's office.

"Oh, she doesn't have one," was the reply. "She's an independent contractor for our IT services department."

"Thank you," Booth said quietly.

He found his crappy coffee and returned dutifully to Hodgins. The man had not moved at all in ten minutes. He was a shell.

"Can't believe you're drinking that stuff, Seeley," Cam remarked quietly.

"Used to it. I'm a frequent flyer here," he replied bitterly.

She edged closer, her brow furrowed. "Are we okay? Please?"

Booth nodded. "I get it. And hate it."

"Like Angela," she murmured.

_Berman_.

"Cam, we need to get her out of here," he whispered.

"Why?"

"Guess who does their IT?"

Cam's eyes widened. "Berman?"

Booth nodded. "Should we tell him now?"

Cam didn't get a chance to respond. The door opened, revealing Dr. Mason with his fixed blank expression. _One hell of a poker face_, Booth thought.

"Hodgins, I'll take Michael," he offered.

Startled, he nodded and passed his son to the agent, eyes never leaving Dr. Mason's face.

"Angela is in recovery now," Dr. Mason stated. "We've drilled a small hole in the skull near her temporal lobe and believe the pressure will be brought under control."

Booth heard an enormous 'but' in the doctor's pause.

"Is she awake? Can I see her?" Hodgins asked.

"She's not awake. Although we did manage to remove a great deal of the blood, the potential for brain damage called for drastic preventative measures. We've had to induce a coma to protect her brain until the swelling subsides."

Hodgins' face fell and Booth clutched Michael a little closer. "C-coma?"

"It's the best option," Cam chimed in, forcing a reassuring tone.

Dr. Mason nodded. "I can take you to her room now, if you like. Immediate family only."

"Booth's coming," Hodgins blurted out.

"Mr. Hodgins—"

"Doctor. _Doctor_ Hodgins. And I can't hold my son right now, and he is immediate family. My family donates your salary several times over to this hospital. Booth will bring my son."

Feisty Hodgins was back in full force, and if this doctor knew what was best for him, he'd shut up and obey. Booth gave the doctor a glare and the man cowered slightly. With a slight nod, he gestured for Hodgins and Booth to follow him.

The ICU room was more of a glass-walled cubicle, crowded with machines and a lonely chair beside the bed. As Hodgins stepped inside, Booth placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Angela's head was bandaged, which he'd expected. Her left hand was in a splint, her left knee encased in plaster. Her cheeks were scraped and swollen, bruising visible beneath her left eye in a blue shade that matched the strap securing her endotracheal tube. Her arms were a mottled mess of bruises and scrapes, tangled among the wires of the machines keeping her alive. From his experience, Booth could picture the explosion now: Angela had been slammed into a wall, her left side taking the brunt of the force. She'd hit the ground and struck her head again, most likely. If she were lucid, she'd been in agony.

_Damn it!_

"Will she wake up okay?" Hodgins asked quietly.

"We can't know until the swelling comes down and she's conscious," Dr. Mason said. "There may be impairments in her memory when she does that may or may not last."

"Impairments?" Hodgins echoed.

Dr. Mason nodded solemnly. "She may not remember the incident, which is common. She may not remember today at all, or this week. We're hopeful that there won't be any severe impairment, but we really can't know. I wish I could provide more concrete answers."

"Thank you," Booth said, dismissing him.

Hodgins sank into the chair beside her bed, his hand reaching out for hers. "Ange? I'm here, babe. I love you and I'm here. God, why didn't I come check on you earlier? Why didn't I kiss you goodbye? If I'd noticed you were out, maybe I could have called and stopped you from being there... Maybe..." He shook his head. "Angela, just please hang on... Please..."

Machines beeped and hummed. Angela remained motionless, save the forced rise and fall of her chest.

"Do you want me to take Michael home?" Booth asked softly. "The machines might worry him."

Hodgins sighed. "Yes. No. I don't know." His lips pressed to her hand. "Booth, did he do this?"

"Yeah, I think so," Booth replied.

"He has to pay for this," Hodgins growled.

"He will, Hodgins. I swear this bastard's going to pay."

Booth hesitated, his mind drifting to Berman's presence. This was a time for Hodgins to be with his wife, but Booth couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. _I can't risk Angela's life any further_.

"Hodgins? This is lousy timing, but I have to tell you something."

The man glanced up, his hand fisted in his curly hair. "What's wrong?"

Booth shuffled Michael to his other shoulder, swaying slightly. "Berman works here part-time."

Hodgins sat expressionless for a minute that felt like an hour, his body perfectly still. Only the twitch of his left eye signaled comprehension. He looked to his wife, his son, then met Booth's worried gaze with a severe one.

"I'll have her moved to another facility under guard by morning," he stated calmly.

"I think that's the best course of action."

"Zack!" Hodgins' eyes widened in recollection. "Booth, last night he was suddenly transferred to a low security ward."

Booth frowned. "That's impossible! Sweets says he's never leaving maximum security without his personal directive."

"He slugged the orderlies to get locked down in solitary," Hodgins explained. "Booth, Sweets has to do something. We can't let him be the next Ethan. Not Zack."

Booth nodded. "I'll call Sweets right now. Do you want me to come back?"

Hodgins hesitated. "Part of me needs you here. To feel safe, you know? When Taffet… You came. But Michael needs someone more. I need to know my son will be safe."

Booth nodded. "I won't let anything happen to him, Hodgins. I'll take him home and sleep in his room. What about Ange's dad?"

"Cam called him. He'll be here soon," Hodgins replied.

"Then you'll be safe. That man's tough as any soldier I've ever met."

Booth's mind quickly flashed a nightmare image of Bones in Angela's place, battered and fragile, and he winced. He understood the agony Hodgins was struggling to contain, the quiver of his jaw and flexing fingers signals of looming rage at Pelant. _Don't go after him, Hodgins. It's what he wants_.

"Thanks, Booth. For everything," he said at last.

Booth sighed. "I'm so sorry about Angela. It shouldn't have been her."

"It shouldn't have been anyone," Hodgins countered. "Dr. B. will kick your ass if you don't stop talking like that, man. You know it."

Booth smiled wanly. "Yeah. Yeah, she will. Call me if there's a change."

Hodgins rose to kiss his son, tousling his hair gently before returning to Angela's side. Taking his cue, Booth made his way back to the family waiting room to update their friends. Sweets had arrived, consoling Daisy in the farthest corner. With a pointed look at the young doctor, he waited outside the room. The door opened soon after, Sweets' face haggard from a seeming lack of sleep.

"What's wrong? Did Hodgins get in to see him?"

"Yeah and we have a problem," Booth said. "They tried to transfer him to minimum security last night."

Sweets began to seethe. "You have _got_ to be kidding. This bastard's manipulating that system too?"

"Yeah. He earned a lockdown in solitary to stop it, but you need to do something and fast, Sweets."

"I'll call right now and cancel that move. Beyond that, I'll have to think about what we can do without tipping Flynn off." Glancing at his phone, he frowned. "I have a missed call from the hospital."

"Ten bucks says it's about Zack."

He studied the doctor's face as he placed a return call. Instinctively, he knew what the call was about, but refused to give voice to it.

"Yes, this is Dr, Lance Sweets. I received a call?" A long pause, during which Sweets' pallor shifted into a cherry hue. "How did this happen? Never mind, I'm coming right now and I expect answers!" He hung up the phone angrily, pocketing it with a trembling hand.

"Sweets? What happened?"

With a grimace, Lance Sweets confirmed Booth's guess. "Zack Addy has escaped."

* * *

**_Zack is a very smart guy, no? Sweets has also been pretty naughty with this level of disclosure. "Breaking the law! Breaking the law!"  
_**

**_So Zack's on the run, Angela's in a coma and Berman keeps popping up where she's not wanted. The Jeffersonian team is being pushed to their limits already, and there's plenty of ground left to cover. Poor Hodgins. I feel terrible about what I've done to him.  
_**

**_Next chapter will be a bit filler-ish, but necessary. It's time we check in with our fugitive anthropologist.  
_**

**_See you soon (Saturday, most likely). And, if you're in a state of heartfail and need reassurance, allow me to quote Placebo: "Soul mates never die."  
_**


	12. Chapter 12

**_AN: WARNING - FF seems to have gone wonky with chapter 11 - I didn't get the alert until almost 24 hours had passed. If you have NOT read the Zack/Hodgins convo or seen Angela post-blast, flip back a chapter or this will make no sense.  
_**

**_Short and bittersweet, but necessary... We move to day 34 and visit Arizona, where a fugitive anthropologist and her daughter are struggling to cope with the absence of their favourite guy.  
_**

**_MUSIC: Set The Fire To The Third Bar - Snow Patrol; Thirty-Three - Smashing Pumpkins  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**2937890 Seconds**

_Flagstaff, AZ_

The stack of photocopied journal articles had grown rather tall over the previous weeks, and while Temperance knew she needed to get through them more expediently, her concentration was lacking. She found herself swiping away at solitary stray tears she couldn't recall shedding. Her heart was always _crushed_, from the time she rose with Christine to the lonely hour when she finally fell into sleep. Her pen remained poised above the same page as ten minutes prior and she cursed angrily as she launched it across the room.

It hadn't taken long for the celebrity news chasers to learn of the explosion at the home of fugitive author Temperance Brennan. A slender brunette with overly perky breasts that were most certainly augmented and a smile without sincerity felt it necessary to show the house – _their Mighty Hut!_ – in disarray. She thought it appropriate for her colleague to badger Angela's father for word of her condition. Endless speculation abounded. The worst of it was the insinuation that she would attempt to murder her family.

Of course, with their lack of television and internet access, Temperance had only seen this footage three days ago, a full ten days since the incident. She'd fled the University of Arizona library, scarcely reaching the car before breaking down in shuddering sobs not unlike those she'd experienced the night of Vincent's passing. Her best friend was in critical condition because of _her_. Because Pelant hated _her_. And she was not there at her side, as Angela would have been at hers.

Another surprise tear, another angry swipe. There was no good reason to allow herself to cry where her father might notice. He'd adamantly refused to allow her to phone Hodgins or Booth. She wasn't permitted to phone the hospital. Rationally, she understood his reasons. Emotionally – the side of her Angela's giving friendship and Booth's patient love had nurtured – she wanted to scream, throw things, pack her daughter into the car and drive until she was at Angela's side.

But oh, it was harder today to maintain control. Today was Father's Day. She wanted to strike her father. She hated herself for keeping Christine from hers. One could not re-do a milestone in a child's life. Booth was missing his first Father's Day since the arrival of their child. It was another thing she'd robbed him of.

"He'll never forgive me," she whispered, drawing her knees to her chest.

Nearly seven weeks had passed without him. Seven weeks of fear and running and cold sheets without warm arms. Seven weeks of feeling defeated. Four weeks of Christine sitting up without Booth having witnessed it.

"Sweetheart?"

Brennan glanced up at her father, struggling to suppress her anger. _He's helping me. He didn't have to come with me_. Her head drooped, resting on her knees. Even sitting upright was exhausting by the end of the day.

"I'm sorry about Angela, Tempe. I can check in with a contact but it will take a good four or five days to get the update." Max's tone was gentle, tentative.

"I shouldn't have to utilize a… a call-tree of criminals to find out simple information!" Brennan shouted. "I should be able to simply place a call to her husband and receive an update. I should be able to see her with my own eyes. But I _had_ to go ask Ethan for help. I _had_ to get him killed. And now… Now I drag my poor daughter around on a cross-country game of Hide and Seek!"

"You're right," Max said.

"It's Father's Day and Booth isn't with her," she said angrily, choking on a sob. "I am not a suitable mother. I told him I wouldn't be and here we are. What was I thinking?"

Max settled on the couch beside her. "Tempe, you're an amazing mother! You're just like Ruth. You're attentive and gentle with Christine. Everything we do is for her safety. I can't imagine a more devoted parent. The situation is crap, but that's not your fault."

"Angela needs me too. I'm not there for her or Hodgins."

Her father sighed, scratching his head. "Okay, honey. I promise you that I will find a way to send a message to Hodgins and Booth, letting them know that you're thinking of them. I can't risk your handwriting on anything, but I can do something."

Brennan sniffed loudly, disturbed by the excessive mucous in her nasal passages. "And we won't be found?"

"No, we won't. What will get us found is this," he said, gesturing to her stack of research. "Tempe, you've been to the university three times in the last two weeks. You're taking too many chances with this research!"

"My cover story is believable!" At this protest, she gestured to an equally large stack of journals and book chapters photocopied strictly for her "book". "Over there, I have several articles on the sociological and anthropological importance of small town customs and understanding the community dynamics within. I also have articles from geographical texts on the features of several small towns in the United States that I claim to be studying. I told you, Dad: the team needs me. Especially now, with Angela and Hodgins… otherwise occupied."

Max rolled his eyes. "Even if they buy that story, they won't believe that you're reading all of the papers you're hauling away! You're not going to the campus for at least another week."

"But it's my only means of finding out about Angela!"

"I will go find updates for you. You have to stop this." He shook his head sadly. "You're not made for this life. I knew that before I suggested it, but I did expect more cooperation from you."

Christine's whimpers from the other room signaled her stirring. Temperance glanced at the clock. _It's too early for a feeding_. Rising slowly, she made her way through the single-floor dwelling, studying her daughter from the doorway. _Ah. The diaper face, as Booth calls it_.

"Is she okay?"

"She's soiled. I'll change her." She scooped her daughter up, cradling her close as she fetched supplies from her bag.

"You were away from him for seven months before. It's only been a month this time," Max commented.

"That was different," Brennan countered, unfastening the diaper that smelled distinctly of something rather horrid she'd experienced once yet could not name.

"How?"

"We weren't in a committed relationship then," Brennan said.

Max groaned. "Sweetheart, you might as well have been. You were in love."

"It's still different! I was more… impervious then." she insisted, wiping Christine clean. "And Christine has never been away from her father. Infants form crucial understanding of psychological attachment and nurturing during their first two years of life. She fusses frequently because her father is not available and her sense of object permanence is not fully formed. She is non-verbal and thus I cannot communicate the reasons we cannot be with him, either."

Her father remained silent, unable to refute that point. Securing a fresh diaper, she held her daughter close, gently rocking her. The recording of Booth was barely enough to ease her daughter's crying now. She wanted the real person, as did Brennan.

"I'm going to do a perimeter sweep. Tomorrow, I'll send a message."

Her father left, shutting their front door behind him with a firm yet quiet _click_ of latch meeting strike. A deadbolt engaged and Brennan found herself relaxing slightly. Christine, on the other hand, seemed reluctant to return to slumber.

"Shall I tell you a short narrative to lull you back into somnolence?" Brennan thought for a moment, seeking something fitting for a day in celebration of paternal family members. "There was once a mummy – not a British parent, but a deceased body processed according to Egyptian customs – in a maze of hay. I'm not certain why mazes are connected with the celebration of Halloween, but this was the setting. Your father is clever, Christine. He used his car alarm to successfully spare us a tedious walk with an inexperienced and shoddy guide to the exit."

The infant gurgled sleepily, her eyes beginning to flutter.

"Angela says to keep my stories to a 'G' rating, which I discerned via research as meaning it should be devoid of violence, sexuality and coarse language. So we'll skip ahead to the night of the Jeffersonian Halloween party and say that your parents worked hard to track down the villain. Dr. Saroyan came as Catwoman, a poor choice considering that she is not a female superhero. I dressed as Wonder Woman, although I fear I may have to reconsider this year due to my increased bust size."

_Hmm… Maybe I'll just wear it for Booth. If he still wants me around…_

"We tracked down the bad person and for some reason, I was uncomfortable with the snakes surrounding the young girl we needed to save. Come to think of it, I've long wondered if it was a subconscious urge to mount your father. I also managed to shoot him. Did you know that you need not be wearing indestructible bracelets to reflect a bullet? Please, never shoot your father or any metal doors near him where one might experience a reflective strike. He was very unhappy. In any case, he shot a clown, something he did often before his brain tumor, so you're not allowed to have a clown for any childhood parties."

Christine was nearly asleep now and Temperance smiled, gravitating towards the crib and laying her down in it. She smoothed the hair on her daughter's head as she watched her eyes flutter and close anew.

"Your father saved my life and Megan's. He had to take a life, which he truly hates. But that's your father, Christine: self-sacrificing, heroic, loving and noble. I could see his pain at having to add another person to the list he keeps but I couldn't ease it. I would do anything to take it away…"

Her voice trailed off, Brennan confident Christine would sleep well. She, on the other hand, would likely see the first hint of sunrise before slumber claimed her. Wearily, she fell onto the bed across the room and crawled beneath the covers in her jeans and t-shirt. She wondered if Parker was with Booth, if he was alone. He hated being alone, hated how far away Rebecca had taken his son. Had he visited Pops today? Had he gotten drunk to cope with what she was putting him through? Had he thought of gambling?

So many questions without answers. She'd never realized how vast and desolate a world of uncertainty could be until this experience.

Clutching the pillow tightly, she wept silently into it, longing for a sturdy chest instead.

* * *

**3085208 Seconds**

The bruises were fading, yellow blotches ringed in light blueberry hues. Still she slept, although the doctors planned to ease her out of the coma the next morning. Not that it guaranteed she'd awaken, much less be herself.

Jack was draining an enormous amount of money from his fortune on private medical care and security and couldn't care less, no matter how frantic his accountant sounded.

"Hey Angie, there's new drama with the Kardashians and Kris Humphries. You know you _love_ the Kardashians," he joked lightly. "If you don't wake up soon, I may start reading TMZ out loud to you and that'll destroy several thousand brain cells I need to teach Michael cool science fair projects."

Machines were his only response: beeps, whirring and the inflation of the respirator.

"Michael misses you," he whispered. "I miss you. I miss your laughter and your sarcasm. I miss your smile, your cooking experiments… God, I just miss _you_." He buried his face in the sheet beside her motionless hand, drained from his near-constant vigil.

A knock at the door of their private room startled him. Glancing up, he eyed the large floral arrangements the nurse was juggling with confusion.

"These just arrived together for Angela," she explained. "Help me?"

Hodgins rushed to her aid, taking the bundle from her left arm. Enclosed in its own vase, the arrangement was a simple blend of two flowers: daffodils and daisies. Nestled in the paper wrapping, he noted as he sat it down, was a small envelope marked "Read First".

_What the hell_?

The nurse sat the second arrangement down beside it with a smile. "These will certainly brighten things up for Ms. Montenegro's big day tomorrow."

"There's no guarantee she'll wake up, Shanna," Jack noted sadly.

"But she'll be able to smell them, all the same," Shanna insisted. "She's going to be okay, Dr. Hodgins. I truly believe it."

"Thanks."

Left alone with his unusual and unexpected deliveries, Hodgins debated opening the envelopes. Would it be better to trace the flowers, determine if they were a sick gift from Pelant? Were they just flowers?

_Think, Jack_. _Daffodils and daisies in one, azaleas and hyacinth in another… _Jack's eyes widened in recognition, recalling a discussion several years ago between Booth and Brennan. Reaching for the phone beside Angela's bed, he dialed a well-used number.

"Booth."

"You need to come to the hospital."

"Is Angela okay?" Booth sounded panicked, papers shuffling in the background.

"Yeah, she's still asleep. There's something here. Something good."

Jack hung up, reaching for the first envelope with a half-smile. _Shanna was right: these will definitely brighten things up around here_.

* * *

Booth entered the room in a rush, his tie askew and jacket rumpled. Glancing around wildly, his gaze settled on a strangely peaceful Hodgins.

"What's with the cryptic call, Hodgins?" Booth demanded.

"Bureau can't be trusted. Now, shut up and look at the windowsill."

Booth obeyed, staring at the twin floral arrangements. The one on the left immediately clicked in his head and he looked to Hodgins expectantly.

"Are they..?"

Hodgins passed him a small envelope, nodding. "Read this one first."

Booth withdrew the tiny card from the envelope and studied it. The handwriting was unfamiliar but masculine – likely the florist or a friend of Max, he guessed. The language was sparse, but clear:

_Get well soon, Angela. Love, Wanda and family_.

"The daisies and daffodils," Hodgins said as Booth looked up. "Wanda sent her favourites."

"And the others?" Booth asked.

Hodgins handed him a second envelope, still sealed. "Let's find out."

With a trembling finger, he tore through the seal, withdrawing the card gingerly from its sleeve. The same writing style had completed this card as well, although the message was very, very different.

_I'm so sorry, Buck. Please forgive me. Love, Wanda_

"Hyacinth, in that shade, means 'forgive me'," Hodgins noted.

Booth swallowed hard, struggling to not cry. "And the other flower? What does it mean?"

"Starts with a 'T'," Hodgins whispered.

Booth nodded vigorously as he sunk into a chair, the message received. _I forgive you, Bones. Just stay safe out there. Stay safe until I can bring you both home_.

* * *

**_Max has good friends... and a soft spot for Angela, of course. Who doesn't?  
_**

**_Angela's induced coma is about to be ended. Will she wake up? Will she be Angela? Let's cross our fingers for Hodgins and find out next chapter (Tuesday-ish?) Thank you for continuing to review. It's truly appreciated. The love being shown for this story brightens my whole day and makes writing very, very easy.  
_**


	13. Chapter 13

**_AN: Day 39! Will Angela awaken? Will she be herself? Let's check in with the team... because the first glimmers of hope are on their way...  
_**

**_TO ALL REVIEWERS: Thank you. I take great care in plotting my stories and trying to be as true to the original as possible. To hear that translates for you, to be told that you can see this happening in an episode... It's a tremendous compliment and I am humbled.  
_**

**_MUSIC: Wake Up - Arcade Fire; Sleeping Beauty - A Perfect Circle; In The Air Tonight - Full Blown Rose  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**3261617 Seconds**

"Why won't she wake up?" Jack asked the attending physician. "You took her off the medication cocktail yesterday morning!"

The doctor sighed. "It's not abnormal, Dr. Hodgins. She's breathing on her own now. Her EEG results indicate that her brain is resuming normal function, although there seems to be a bit of a blip in the temporal lobe. She is no longer comatose. It's possible that she's experiencing incredibly brief moments of consciousness as she returns to lucidity."

Jack's gaze returned to his wife's eyes, watching for a flutter, a half-blinking sign that she was back with him. Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. If Cam and Michelle hadn't agreed to take Michael last night, he could say that perhaps he'd missed something at three in the morning, but he had kept vigil. His eyes ached from exhaustion but he refused to sleep. Not until Angela was back.

"Her body's still recovering from general trauma," the doctor added gently. "If she hasn't woken up by tomorrow, we'll start to look at our next course of action. For now, give her time. Have the nurses page me if she stirs at all."

He nodded in understanding, eyes never leaving hers. Seventeen days of silence. Seventeen days of fear, of prayer and hope even if he was an atheist, because Angela wasn't. He prayed on her behalf. He prayed on Michael's behalf. Booth had lit candles for her regularly as well.

The tests seemed "pretty normal", or so they said. Jack remained haunted by Dr. Mason's cautionary words at George Washington University Hospital: "_She may not remember the incident, which is common. She may not remember today at all, or this week. We're hopeful that there won't be any severe impairment, but we really can't know_."

"Angie, wake up," he whispered. "Just for a minute. Please."

"How is she?"

Jack glanced up, forcing a smile for Booth. "Still a Sleeping Beauty. The doctor says it's normal for this to take time. She's off the respirator now."

"It's a good start, Hodgins," Booth replied, settling into the chair beside him. "Any word from the lab?"

"Flynn told us to take a flying leap about Berman – she had an alibi for the night of Sawyer's death and he, quote unquote, doesn't care why she lied." Booth rolled his eyes at this as Hodgins continued. "Cam's shut the place down until I'm back, aside from Limbo identifications. No casework of any kind." He shrugged sadly. "I know that's not what you want to hear. You want us hunting Pelant—"

"No, I want Angela to be well," Booth interrupted. "The case can wait. Besides, Sweets and I are still working behind the scenes on that, alright? She comes first. Angela's priority number one."

"What if she's not… Angela?" Hodgins asked him, yanking nervously at his hair. "What if she doesn't remember Michael? Or me?"

"Then we help her remember," Booth replied firmly. "Look, Hodgins, I'll tell you from my experience as a Ranger that it could go all sorts of ways. She could wake up screaming, thinking she's back in the house as the bomb's detonating. She could wake up with a headache and think it's her first day of stress leave. She could not remember a thing about herself. There's no easy way to predict it. But the odds of her never remembering you or Michael? Extremely slim, alright?"

Hodgins rested his head on Angela's lap, careful not to place any weight on her left leg. Booth was sincere. Nothing he'd said was news and yet, hearing it from someone he could trust made it more concrete. For her sake, he hoped Angela didn't remember the explosion. He hoped she remained oblivious to that traumatic event.

"I'll never leave her," he vowed. "Even if I'm a stranger."

Booth nodded, sipping his coffee. "I know you won't."

His hand found hers and he closed his eyes, listening to her breathe. It was one of the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard. Inhalation, exhalation. Life. It had often lulled him to sleep in the past but he fought against his body's plea to stop, to rest. He had promised her that he'd be here when she opened her eyes and he was a man of his word.

"Have you slept?"

"No and I don't plan to," he replied.

"Hodgins, I'll wake you—"

"No."

Inhalation. Exhalation. His hand squeezed hers gently, a silent request. _Come on, Ange. Just open your eyes. Just open them and tell me you're here_. Her father was coming to check on her later today, expecting good news. How would he look him in the eye and tell him that she remained in the darkness, out of reach?

"Mmm…"

Jack's head flew up, studying her face. Beneath her eyelids, a gentle twitch signaled awareness. He squeezed her hand again, willing her back to him.

"Angie? It's Jack. Can you hear me?"

Delicate fingers fluttered beneath his, curling around his hand briefly, then releasing.

"Booth, did you see that?"

"Yeah. Should I find the doctor?"

Hodgins nodded, transfixed by her. It was akin to a spark blossoming into an ember, a flame, a wildfire. Her arm flinched as if pricked with a pin, her lips parting ever so slightly. She was standing on the precipice of their world and the one she'd remained locked within for endless days. _Jump_, he begged. _Come back_.

A sigh. Pained. Her legs flexed as if testing their muscles and a whimper escaped her lips. _The broken knee_, he reasoned. His hand reached for her face, tracing her jaw line lightly. A flutter.

Awakening.

"Huh… Hodgins?"

"Yes, Angie!" His heart pounded in his chest as he stood over her, smoothing her hair. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyes opened slowly, squinting shut as light struck her pupils. "Ow…"

The lights dimmed suddenly and Hodgins spun around, relieved to see Booth and Dr. Reynolds. "I came as soon as I could. Is that better, Ms. Montenegro?"

"Mmm…" Her eyes opened again, eyelids drooping. "Jack?"

"I'm here," he reassured her. "Do you know where you are?"

She winced. "Not… not home. What… Jack?"

"Try and stay still for now, Angie," Jack urged her. "Doc?"

Should he tell her? How much should he say? He couldn't risk screwing this up.

Dr. Reynolds approached from the opposite side, Angela's eyes orienting towards him. "Hello, Angela. I'm Dr. Reynolds, your physician here at Hadley Campus. Would you like a drink of water?"

She nodded, coughing hoarsely. The doctor slipped into the hall to meet an approaching nurse, returning with a paper cup of water. Tilting the head of her bed slightly, he assisted her in taking a few small sips.

"Better?"

"Mmhmm."

"Are you in pain?"

Hodgins stifled a chuckle as Angela gave the doctor a sarcastic look. "Is the… sky blue?" With a groan, she lifted her left arm gingerly, allowing it to drop after managing half an inch. "So weak…"

"That's normal," Dr. Reynolds stated calmly. "Give it a few days. Do you know what happened to you?"

Her eyes drifted to Jack's face, her brow furrowed. "No. Nothing…" She gasped loudly, her eyes widening. "Michael!"

"He's fine, Ange. He's with Cam." He leaned over, kissing her cheek lightly. "It's so good to see you awake."

"So tired… My leg hurts." Angela grimaced, her eyes squeezing shut. "What happened?"

Dr. Reynolds jumped in quickly and Hodgins was grateful. "You had an accident and were hurt badly, Angela. Your knee is broken and your left hand may also have a small fracture. You hurt your head as well. That's why you can't remember."

Her eyes squinted open, focusing beyond Hodgins. "Studly?"

Booth chuckled, shaking his head. "Good to have you back, Angela."

"Where… where's Bren?"

Hodgins' blood ran cold as he and Booth exchanged worried looks. _Dr. B's been gone for over a month. Angela knows – knew that_. The looming fear of Dr. Mason's words reared its head.

"Angela, what date do you think it is?" Dr. Reynolds asked.

She coughed slightly, licking her lips. "Um… May… something. I don't know…"

Dr. Reynolds nodded. "I know your husband's been anxious to talk to you but we'll give you something for the pain that might make you drowsy. Try and rest. Your body's had a big shock."

"Booth, can you stay with Angie? I'll be right back."

At his nodded assent, Hodgins trailed Dr. Reynolds into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. He stood silently, expectantly. If Angela thought it was May, she'd lost weeks of her life. Weeks of sadness and frustration that he didn't know if he could subject her to all over again in this state.

"It would seem that the oddities in the temporal lobe were an indicator of memory disruption, as I thought," Dr. Reynolds said. "This could be temporary, Dr. Hodgins. She's only just woken up. Most coma patients can barely speak. She's fairly lucid, which is a promising sign."

"How do I tell her that her best friend's a fugitive?" Hodgins hissed. "Do I tell her? She won't believe that Dr. Brennan would stay away for anything less than an emergency."

Dr. Reynolds shook his head. "No, no lies. It'll only confuse her and it's possible that hearing one detail may bring others back. If the last few weeks have been distressing, it's possible a part of Angela doesn't want to remember them yet. Try and keep things as simple as possible, but be honest. If she becomes upset, we may have to give her a very mild sedative."

"Okay… Okay. At least she remembers everyone."

"That's a very good thing, Dr. Hodgins. The impact she sustained, the injury to her brain… Now that we're here at this moment, I can tell you that there was a great chance of total amnesia. This is a good thing. Now, go be with your wife. You've waited a long time for this."

_Yes, I have waited. Too damn long_.

Opening the door, he found a very anxious Booth looking to him for guidance, and a surprisingly alert and rather angry Angela.

"Look, who else would send daffodils and daisies?" Angela asked. "Booth, what the hell?" She coughed again, her body shuddering. "My head hurts too much for this."

"Babe, calm down," Hodgins urged, rushing to her side.

Her eyes lolled briefly, springing back open. "Where's Bren?"

"She did send flowers. You're right," he affirmed, which registered as a sly smirk directed at Booth. "But Bren's not here, Angie,"

"Where is she?" Her voice was small, child-like. "She'd… be here…"

A nurse entered quietly, carting a syringe – painkillers, Jack assumed. Perhaps now was a good time to let her process this bad news a second time. She could sleep on it.

"Do you remember Pelant?"

"Hearing's tomorrow," she mumbled. "But Bren…"

With a deep breath, he reached for her hand, holding it tightly. "Babe, the hearing was almost six weeks ago. It's too much to explain now, but Pelant framed Dr. B for a murder. She's fled the warrant."

The plunger was pressed, the opiates traversing quickly into Angela's bloodstream. His verbal plunger had also triggered a release: tears slid free of her drooping eyes, her jaw falling open. Instinctively, he pressed his lips to hers, just as he had the first time she received this news – and made this exact face.

"Wh-what?"

"Angie, sleep. I promise to tell you everything after you rest."

"Booth?"

A deep sigh, filled with longing. "Yeah, Ange. The flowers were her first contact since… She loves you a lot."

Hodgins nodded. "She does. Sisters, babe. Remember?"

Chemicals seeped into her brain, dragging her back into the depths. "No Bren?"

"No Bren. I love you. Sleep, please."

"Love… love you…"

The tension in her face gave way to slumber and Hodgins heaved a sigh of relief. He looked to Booth, who was visibly pained by the exchange he'd witnessed.

"The hearing?"

"It may come back," Hodgins said. "The doctor—"

"She's forgotten the entire Sawyer case, the aftermath, everything…" Booth clenched his fist, his arm shuddering with the desire to strike out. "He's robbed her of six weeks of her life!"

"She almost lost her entire life, Booth!" Hodgins sobbed. "She's alive. She's lucky to be. I'm lucky that she is."

Booth slumped into the chair behind him, burying his face in his hands. "She's lost six weeks with your son…"

Hodgins suddenly understood: it was anger for two parents that drove the agent now. He'd lost five weeks of time with his own daughter. He understood that agony, and knew how it would affect Angela. And he felt responsible for it.

"Booth… Hey man, this isn't your fault."

Booth shook his head. "If I'd gone home and cleaned our house, just lived there…"

"You'd be here in this bed, and we'd all still hurt," Hodgins completed for him. "And I didn't check on her that afternoon when I stopped home for the books. I could have phoned her and kept her from the house. We can play this game all day and it won't change a damn thing. Angie and I take so much video of Michael that she can see what she missed. And it could still come back to her. The doctor suggested she's blocking emotional memories."

Booth glanced up at him, his eyes moist. "I hope so. He's taken enough." And with that, he rose abruptly, heading for the door.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"To get answers," he said bitterly, shutting the door behind him with a loud _click_.

* * *

He'd debated taking Sweets with him to the house, or even Cam, but in the end, it was Booth alone who sat in the SUV across the street, summoning the courage to enter. He'd returned only once since the explosion to grab for a few priceless items: photos of their family; the box his father had willed to him; Bones' galleys of her novels. The bedroom was a disaster: sooty water had soaked through the carpet and bedclothes, and their bed was demolished. The bed was actually a blessing: it had shielded Angela from much of the blast, according to the agents who'd been watching the house. He'd buy another from the same store out of deep gratitude.

The clean-up had been underway for ten days now, the Feds having taken their sweet time determining the cause of the blast and documenting the evidence. The device was apparently buried within the guise of the alarm clock that sat on his bedside table, which disturbed Booth greatly as he hadn't noticed anything different on that first night home while packing. It was a carefully controlled blast, he'd been told: violent, yet with a relatively small radius. The downstairs had remained mostly unscathed, save a fallen light fixture jostled by the shock wave overhead.

His stomach turned at the thought of entering. It had become the epicenter of everything wrong in the lives of his family and friends. The house was no longer a home. But Angela deserved answers. Hodgins deserved answers. And he _needed_ them.

In a stroke of good fortune, Wendell Bray came out the front entry as Booth walked up the driveway, carrying a large garbage bag. A friendly face without questions was a welcome sight.

"Booth! The guys and I are just finishing up for the day," Wendell said warmly.

"How's it been going?"

Wendell shrugged. "The engineer you brought in gave the all clear for the structural integrity of the house. This place is built tough! Now, it's a matter of ripping out the bad carpet, clearing debris and painting the walls again. It could have been a lot worse."

Booth nodded. "Yeah, it could have been…"

"Did you talk to Hodgins today?"

The kid still had a soft spot for Angela, although he did his best to suppress the puppy eyes around her husband. Angela had once told Booth that no one got over her and her track record backed her up: Grayson, Roxie, Hodgins, Wendell…

"I came from the hospital. Angela woke up today. She's in a lot of pain still and there's memory issues…"

Wendell's face fell. "Does she remember Hodgins and Michael?"

"Yeah, but if you ask her, it's the day before Pelant's parole hearing." Booth sighed. "It might all come back, they said."

"Damn… Well, at least she's awake and knows who she is, right?"

"Yeah." Wendell's optimism was clashing with Booth's desire to wallow and rage. "I'm going in to look for a few things. See you around?"

"For sure. Thanks again for the work, Booth. With the lab shut down, Cam's chopped hours across the board."

With a little nod, Wendell headed down the driveway towards his van, where his two friends waited for him. Booth gave a perfunctory wave to them and rushed inside, shutting the door before he could change his mind.

The scent hit him first: ashes, mold, dust and burnt fabric. He pressed his back into the door, shutting his eyes and talking himself down. _This is just another crime scene_, he told himself. _Work it like a crime scene_. And he almost believed that, until he ventured around the corner and could clearly see Bones seated on their couch, reading a book. He doubled over, the memory a sucker punch to his gut. _Thirty-eight days without her_. Not even Afghanistan had been this difficult to endure.

"I don't have time for this," he muttered. "Keep moving."

The stairs were a mess of soot and muddy footprints and, splashed against a wall near the top, blood. Booth quickly averted his eyes, focusing on the bedroom door that sat ajar. _That won't help Angela_, he reminded himself. _Figuring out how Pelant did this will help_. Steeling his resolve, he shoved the door open.

More blood on walls – a lot more. The broken furniture was almost entirely cleared out, courtesy of Wendell and his team. His instincts confirmed what the reports at the Bureau had stated: the alarm clock was the source of the blast. All remains of the device had been confiscated, he assumed, but he was certain that he would have known if his clock had been switched.

_How did Pelant know what my alarm clock looked like_?

It was a chilling question, one that brought him back to his belief that an FBI insider was in on this mess. He'd found himself at a loss there in terms of narrowing down the potential accomplices, but he knew that there was one. Flynn was his number one choice, but he had nothing besides a deep dislike of the man to support that hypothesis.

He withdrew his trusty note pad from his pocket, jotting down the word "radio" as a reminder to look into the evidence. He needed to know if the radio was the same or not. It would change the course of his entire investigation.

He moved into the hall, turning towards the stairs and halting. _Christine's room_. He hadn't been in there at all since his girls had left him. Too agonizing. Too much salt in the wound. Now, he had to wonder: if they swept the house and missed the bedroom bomb, what did they miss in Christine's room?

The walls adjoining their bedroom, he discovered, had been damaged as debris flew and flames licked hungrily at their home. Her crib was on its side, the mobile Parker had created for her on the ground. Kneeling down, he gingerly lifted his son's creation, examining it for permanent damage. One arm seemed a little bent, but not irreparably so; one of the photos had been torn. Everything looked as it should… only… Booth frowned, tilting the core of the mobile. _Something's not right_. Examining the motor Parker created, he realized what the issue was.

_A bug. Someone bugged my daughter's mobile_.

A picture came together now: a means of detecting their presence upstairs and a bomb that would only take out the upper floor. Was it an invisible trip wire of some sort? Had Angela come into Christine's room to clean, moved on to the bedroom and unwittingly walked into a fate she'd sealed herself?

"Son of a bitch!"

He refused to leave the mobile behind. No, this was evidence and when he was through, Pelant would be locked away and labeled as an attempted baby killer, something that didn't fly even in criminal circles.

Which led him to his final concern: the security system. The footage was stored on site in their laptop, but also remotely for a limited time. The FBI still had the laptop and now, given the device in the mobile and the alarm clock swap, he wondered if anyone had noticed the covert cameras he'd installed. The one in Christine's room was out in the open – it had to be to properly see her while lying down – but the cameras in the bedroom and living room were far less conspicuous. Pelant could screw with the footage, true, but had he noticed?

He needed someone with access to Pelant who would also be sympathetic to his position. _Think. Hacker can't push too many buttons. Cam's pissed off Flynn repeatedly now_. Booth suddenly smiled. He knew exactly who to call. A quick word with the Bureau switchboard connected him to his possible ally.

"Genevieve Shaw."

"Hey Shaw, it's Booth."

"Agent Booth! How's your friend doing?"

Booth smiled. "She's awake and making progress. That's actually why I'm calling. I came by the house to check on my contractors and I noticed something disturbing that was overlooked during the initial investigation."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It looks like some sort of bug, planted in my daughter's mobile. Possibly a motion trigger. Shaw, do you understand how disturbing this is? Who's sick enough to use _anything_ belonging to a child like this?"

Shaw gasped. "That's… I have no words, Agent Booth. None."

"Shaw, I need your help. We might be able to determine who left this bomb. I have surveillance cameras that were recording to a laptop confiscated during the search warrant executed on the day Brennan disappeared. Now, the security company does keep a back-up for a limited time, but the archive on that machine is far more extensive. If someone switched my alarm clock, it would be on there."

A sigh. "I can't allow you to investigate anything connected with Dr. Brennan."

"I get that, but we're talking about Angela. I don't even have to be directly involved. I just want the footage recovered and checked. Can you help me, Shaw?"

The line went silent for a long minute, Booth glancing at the display to ensure his phone hadn't dropped the call. Finally, Shaw agreed, albeit reluctantly and with numerous warnings about the direct handling of evidence.

"I just want answers for Angela," Booth insisted.

"I'll personally look into it, Agent Booth. We'll meet tomorrow."

Hanging up, he found a plastic bag to stuff the broken mobile into and carried it out to his vehicle. He waved and sneered at the agents _still_ watching his house, exasperated at the wasted man hours.

"She's not coming back boys, and neither am I," he muttered.

Turning the key in the ignition, it felt as if a great weight had lifted from his chest. He was finally _doing something_ to help. Shaw would get him his answers and he would continue seeking more on his own. For now, he would return to the hospital. It was where Bones would want him to be.

* * *

**3273617 Seconds**

The pencil flew over the pages of the spiral notebook, sketching patterns and plotting equations at a dizzying rate. His eyes darted wildly between the photo, the textbook and his own calculations, assimilating the three into a meaningful language of his own design.

Beside him, an old computer beeped softly, the command prompt awaiting his next line of code. He'd technically acquired it in illegal fashion, but knew that the owner would happily donate it to the cause. He'd learned from his mentor: he would keep the owner oblivious to preserve his position and keep his hands clean.

He really did need better security, though.

Flipping wildly through the textbook, he found a particular chapter heading that stood out. He dropped the pencil, reading the paragraphs slowly. There was something here he could use. He felt it. He simply had to be persistent and the logic would reveal itself. He turned the page, freezing as a diagram caught his gaze. The eloquent triangle-like shape… the proof beneath it…

"King of the lab!" he praised himself.

Snatching up the pencil, he began to scribble out a string of characters and symbols that, to the average person, might resemble gibberish or, in his case, the ravings of a lunatic. To a man like Dr. Sawyer, however, it was a deeply coded series of steps and lines of programming code that would, if he were correct, create an executable file of some kind. With each line, he tugged a thread loose from a woven fabric, unraveling Sawyer's secret knowledge.

To the computer now. The input strings were tremendously complex, and with the minimal access he'd had to the machines for the last few years, it was somewhat trying to be expedient and precise. Again and again, he rechecked his entries, verifying each string before saving the program to a USB key.

The eloquence of it all earned his respect: after all, not many people would be able to convert a program to formulas and then encode it symbolically. The choice to write it in saliva was a further stroke of true genius. He wished he could have met Ethan Sawyer; they could have spent hours in conversation.

"And… run."

A simple text screen emerged, within it a series of calculations. As they flooded the screen, he began to appreciate the overall purpose. Sawyer had designed a program that would predict the behavior of Pelant – variable P – but also, another independent variable that showed correlations with P.

_Success: yes or no_?

He studied the initial output and understood the definition of success for the program. He selected Yes. A series of further equations spewed out, followed by summary statements that stunned him.

_I was wrong. Partially wrong_.

It had happened before: Dr. Brennan had noted the imperfect logic he'd demonstrated before his apprehension as the Apprentice. This was a matter of an unexplored possibility on his part. Shameful. Dr. Brennan expected better.

Scribbling down point form notes, he slid the USB key and the pages into a large brown envelope, sealing it carefully. Satisfied, he used the phone of the home owner to place a call.

"Lance Sweets."

"I broke the code."

"Zack? Where the hell are you?" Sweets demanded.

"They tried to move me again before you could intervene. I had no choice but to leave," Zack explained. "I am sorry for the stress this must have caused you, and I promise to return to the facility once it is safe to do so. Our work is important."

He could hear the psychologist sigh on the other end. "Please meet with me."

"You know I can't. I have something for you. Do you remember the place I told you about? The hiking trail near my old home?"

"Yes, I remember it. Zack—"

Zack cut him off quickly, wary of the security of their connection. "At the precise time matching that time of day when I intentionally harmed myself, I want you to go there tomorrow. A package will be waiting in the cedar tree. Please make sure you're prompt."

"Zack, I can arrange for a secure facility that cannot be compromised, but you must return to my care immediately."

"Even you don't truly believe that, Dr. Sweets. I can hear it in your voice. I'll be in touch."

He ended the call quickly and packed his belongings into the backpack he'd acquired. If the call was traced, he'd have scant minutes to flee. It was time to move on to the second refuge he knew of. He paused briefly, taking in the sights around him. Very little had changed and this was comforting. He wished he could stay, but that wouldn't be fair. He couldn't involve Hodgins in that way.

"Goodbye, garage home," he lamented before slipping out into the inky cloak of the expansive estate grounds.

* * *

**_King of the lab! What has Zack found out? What the hell is with the mobile? Will Angela ever get her memories back? Be ready for chapter 14 because things are about to take a turn for the lethal.  
_**


	14. Chapter 14

**_AN: Looks like I scared a few of you with that last end note! Let's breathe together and remember that I believe in canon very deeply. That said, this story will have a body count, and good people will get hurt and killed. It's a season premiere, in a sense. Gotta have dynamite!  
_**

**_MUSIC: Black Helicopter - Matthew Good; Points of Authority - Linkin Park  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**3340797 Seconds**

Booth sat quietly in the office, fingers drumming on an overly neat desk as he awaited his fellow agent. Inside, he was a taut thread beginning to fray. Outside, he remained composed, almost nonchalant. No matter how sympathetic she was to his plight, he refused to trust anyone outside of the Squints – including Agent Shaw.

"Sorry, sorry!" the young agent exclaimed, bursting into the office. "I got held up in the hall by Perotta. We've been working that case with the senator and the exotic dancers and it's just a mess."

"I understand." Looking at Shaw's loaded arms, he added, "Do you need help?"

"No sir, just give me… a moment… ah!" With a proud smile, she managed to slide the enormous stack of files and envelopes onto her desk in a relatively neat heap. "I used to be a waitress. The skills come in handy."

"So I should go work a pub if I want to stop dropping case files?" Booth quipped lightly.

Shaw flushed. "You'd make a fortune on tips, sir. But you've come here about Ms. Montenegro." She unlocked her desk drawer, eyes averted. "How is she, by the way?"

"Improving," Booth replied, ignoring the eager young agent's comment as naiveté. "Her memory's still dodgy, and they're uncertain if all of it will ever come back. But the leg is healing on schedule and with physio, they tell me she'll be good as new."

Shaw nodded thoughtfully. "She's very lucky to be alive. I looked at the crime scene photos and reconstructions. Truly scary stuff."

She sat two files on top of her desk, flipping open the first one. Given the pictures and glimpse of a partial address, Booth recognized it as the report on the search warrant executed on their house. The agent flipped through several pages, brow furrowed.

"One second, Agent Booth… Okay, here." She tapped the page lightly. "There were two laptops confiscated from your house during the search. The model you gave me for the surveillance footage has been inspected, but is still being processed."

"It's been 39 days, Shaw. How can it possibly be held up?"

"There's two reasons: first, given Dr. Brennan's absence, the evidence was shifted to the bottom of the pile for more immediate cases. Second, from what I was able to gather in speaking with the technician, there's a great deal of corruption in a block of data. A full third of the hard drive is, in layman's terms, a disaster. He says he's seen nothing like it."

Booth was beginning to know this tune by heart. Wherever Pelant went, computers were manipulated, destroyed, or corrupted. _He knew that the footage would implicate him_, Booth thought, his anger rising. _He knew about our security system_. Terrifying thoughts consumed him now. Had Pelant hacked into their security feed? Had he watched his family's private moments?

"We need that footage, Shaw," he managed to choke out. _Did he see intimate moments as well_?

"Of course, and I've asked them to expedite their continued work on it," Shaw agreed.

"Pelant?"

She opened the second folder, a copy of the case file for the explosion. "I checked in with his parole officer, his employer and the agents routinely checking on him. He's kept to his schedule right to the letter and was in a staff meeting with seven others at the time of the blast. No one observed any sort of means of monitoring your home or knowing Ms. Montenegro had entered it. He's squeaky clean, Agent Booth."

She seemed genuinely upset by this news, and Booth didn't care if it was related to the schoolgirl crush Shaw seemed to have on him. At least someone in this building cared.

"Of course he's clean," Booth grumbled.

"I promise I'll keep looking into this for you," Shaw said quietly. "I have to be subtle, since it's not my case, but if I learn anything else, I'll call right away. I have the guys looking at the mobile as we speak."

Booth rose slowly, resisting the urge to punch a hole in her wall. "Thanks, Shaw. I just want answers for Angela. She deserves to know why someone detonated a bomb and tried to kill her. Her family deserves to know why."

"We'll get there." It was a firm promise.

* * *

**3347701 Seconds**

He'd had to cancel a counseling appointment to reach the meeting spot on time, but Lance considered it a worthwhile sacrifice. Taking an extended lunch for a "personal appointment", he'd driven out to a neighbourhood he'd come to know fairly well during the Gormogon case and his time with Dr. Addy. The lush gardens and pompous estates screamed "Old Money" as he maneuvered the short streets and one-way turns, and he could feel the disdain one resident exuded as he eyed his modest vehicle.

It was no wonder that Dr. Hodgins had not only hidden his wealth from his peers, but actively abandoned it at every opportunity. This wasn't a world for a scientist who wore his heart on his sleeve.

The estate belonging to Jack's family was still well maintained in spite of his move with Angela into their own house. The Cantilever Group provided well for him.

"It simply wouldn't _do_ to allow the family estate to go to ruins!" Sweets quipped to himself, mimicking a snooty female voice.

The trail Zack referred to lay a mile beyond Hodgins' driveway. It spilled into a lush park with hiking trails and a small river maintained by the wealthy residents. It was where he often came to think after his time in Iraq, and where he contemplated his actions as Gormogon's apprentice. Nature's eloquent truth provided a constant around which Zack could experiment with other variables, or so he'd explained during their sessions. It was no surprise to Sweets that he'd return here for clarity after his escape.

Glancing at his watch, Sweets nodded to himself. One minute remained until the time of the Jeffersonian incident that had ultimately proved his undoing. Understanding Zack as he now did, he was certain that the package had been hidden long ago. The young scientist feared for his life within the hospital; there was no way he'd risk being remanded there again until it was safe to do so. Sweets remained in his car only as a gesture of good faith, lest Zack be watching him.

The watch display flipped forward to the correct minute and Sweets opened the car door cautiously, eyes scanning the perimeter. Although he understood Zack to not be inherently violent, he also knew that he wasn't above violence as a logical means of problem-solving. If slugging his psychiatrist would ensure his safety in some way, he'd do it without qualms. He could only hope that Zack had also come to understand Sweets as someone who would respond to logic –would, say, hand over his car keys without a fight if asked. His hand instinctively patted his concealed weapon as a comforting gesture as he approached the lone cedar tree flanking the hiking trail. _Just in case_, he'd told himself.

These days, nothing could be trusted as fact.

The package was nestled in a tangled mess of shrubbery at the foot of the looming tree, the brown paper envelope blending into the dirt and broken branches. It was unmarked, of course. Zack knew better than to leave concrete evidence of involvement. Sweets imagined that there would be no fingerprints, no DNA, were he to have the package analyzed. Not that he would, of course. His own job would be on the line. Delicately, he slipped his hand into the crevice, tugging the envelope free. _No sign of Zack_. He wasn't surprised by this as he tucked it inside his suit jacket.

He was, however, surprised by the crack of gunfire and the bullet that struck the tree beside him.

Breaking into a crouching run, Sweets dove for the cover of his sedan, eyes searching wildly for the source of the attack. His heart pounded in his skull as a branch snapped and another bullet was fired, striking the hood of the vehicle. _Someone knew about this meeting_, he realized with a sickening turn of his stomach. _Someone wants this package_.

"FBI!" he shouted, pulling his weapon from the holster and removing the safety. "I'm armed!"

It was so cliché, but he could think of nothing else. He'd never used the gun in the field, not once. He'd had no need. Why hadn't he called Agent Booth to assist with this pick-up? He listened carefully, peering up over the hood to ascertain his attacker's position.

Another shot, shattering the windshield. _Never mind_! Blindly, he aimed his gun in the direction of the assailant and fired. His free hand fumbled with his cell phone, scrolling through his recent calls and hitting send.

"I don't want to die," he whimpered.

His call was mercifully answered. "Booth."

"You have to help me!" he hissed.

"Who… Sweets?"

"Yes! I'm being shot at!"

Panic seeped into the Agent's voice. "What? Where are you?"

A bird called out in surprise as another shot was fired, taking out a front tire. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

"Sweets! Where are you?" Booth yelled.

"Near Hodgins' old place. Damn it, what do I do? I'm not a field agent!" Sweets was losing his cool and he knew it.

"Stay low. Stay protected. Tell me you have your goddamn weapon, Sweets!" There was chatter in the background. "I'm calling for back-up."

"No! The police… No," Sweets stressed.

"You think I'm an idiot? I'm calling Hodgins' goons at the estate," Booth replied. "Stay on the phone, Sweets. Can you see anyone?"

"No," he whispered. "I tried to look and nearly lost my head. Fired blind."

More chatter Sweets could scarcely make out, then Booth's voice, strong and confident. "Two minutes, Sweets. Just stay down. Fire more blind shots if you absolutely have to."

Down the street behind him, Sweets could hear voices. Angry, military-type voices. From the forest, he heard boots striking dirt, moving into the distance. _Two minutes_, he told himself.

"Sweets? Say something, damn it!"

"I… I think they're running away."

"Good," Booth said. "Stay put. Keep alert. You're going to be fine."

Footsteps to his left. Startled, he spun, gun aimed at three burly men with silenced weapons of their own. One dropped close to the ground, approaching Sweets.

"Dr. Sweets?" he asked. "We were sent by Agent Booth. Where's the target?"

"Hiking trail… south side, I think…"

Gestures were exchanged and two men continued into the wooded area. His conversational partner extended a hand to the young doctor, his face stern.

"Come with me."

"Booth?" Sweets asked the phone.

"Go with him. That's Jordan. I've met him before," Booth assured him. "I'll meet you at the estate."

"I'm sorry, Booth. I panicked—"

"No, you were smart, Sweets. You called for back-up. You listened to instructions. Now, be a good little baby duck and get your ass to safety, alright?"

The warm concern in Booth's tone diminished his self-reprisals. With a quick answer in the affirmative, he accepted the outstretched hand and allowed himself to be led down the road to the prized residence of the Cantilever Group's sole heir. The envelope bristled against his chest with each harried step, reminding him of the reason for the assault. _Zack found something_.

Sweets just hoped it would be enough to shake up Pelant's game and put the odds back in their favour.

* * *

"Did you want me to take Michael?"

"Touch my son and you're a dead man, Jack," Angela cooed in a high-pitched voice. "This is Mommy time, right Michael?"

Her son clapped his hands excitedly, mesmerized by the blips and lights of the assorted monitors telling Angela what she already knew: she was alive. With a flurry of soft kisses on his head, she tucked him against her body with her good arm, passing him a picture book with her splinted hand.

"Just let me know, okay?" Jack asked. "He's a handful with two good arms."

"He takes after his father."

"C'mon babe, who's the wild child in this relationship?"

Angela chuckled. "You have a point. But he's inquisitive, like you." She sighed wistfully, watching him point at a picture of a cat. "Where did the time go?"

"Ka!" Michael exclaimed with pride. "Kee-Ka!"

"Kitty cat, that's right," Angela whispered.

"Ange, it'll come back."

Angela sighed. This was a line she'd heard from everyone in her life repeatedly since she'd woken up. While more memories had seeped back into her brain since the fuzzy awakening, things were still absent. Six weeks of her life were cerebral Swiss cheese and it was infuriating.

"Hodgins, how can you be so sure? The doctor already admitted that he hadn't expected me to remember much of anything. Maybe I should cut my losses and pretend I took an epic vacation involving a tequila IV drip."

Her son giggled, flipping the page and stroking the image of a puppy. She had a vague sense of déjà vu, but nothing concrete. Ether.

"It's only been a day," he countered gently. "Your body is still healing and that includes your head."

"Ugh, well could it hurry up? The leg's bad enough." She shifted slightly and hissed in agony. "I'm not looking forward to physiotherapy, which is doctor-speak for sadism, by the way."

No matter how hard she pleaded, the nurses refused to give her anything stronger than Tylenol 3. They very sweetly reminded Angela that she had only just surfaced from a coma and morphine was far too risky. Ditto fentanyl, dilaudid, anything _good_.

"You'll have the best of everything," Jack said firmly. "Specialists in traumatic brain injury, the least sadistic physiotherapist alive, anything you need. Speaking of, Dr. Reynolds made a suggestion: video."

"Video?"

"Yeah. We take tons of footage of Michael, and there's always the security footage from the Jeffersonian. It's possible that watching it will bring memories back. I asked if that would be too stressful and he seemed to think a little at a time might help."

Angela nodded. "Yeah… I mean, the stuff of Michael for sure. The work stuff can wait."

"Bow wow!" Michael shouted happily.

"The kid learns fast," Jack said, grinning.

Angela managed a weak smile. "Like his dad. To me though, it's lightning. Flashes. I remember buying this book… And I remember you looking at it with him. But him mastering these words as much as he has… Nothing."

"Parts, but you can't sum up the whole."

"An unfinished puzzle… And an evil cat has knocked the loose pieces flying everywhere and now I'm crawling on the floor, searching for them."

Michael squirmed beside her and she looked to Jack, who quickly scooped the boy up before he managed to roll onto the floor. Wrinkling his nose, he held his son away from him.

"Dude! What the hell did Cam feed you?"

"You know, the one bright side of getting blown up and losing my memory is the accompanying hand splint," Angela mused. "Gee, I can't seem to change diapers for the next three or four weeks. Have fun, Daddy."

"Daddy will hire a nanny if he has to," Hodgins grumbled, tugging the diaper bag onto his shoulder. "Back in a few."

Angela's head sunk into the pillow as she allowed herself to whimper in pain. She knew Jack was right: it had only been a day. Maybe the memories would return with the videos, or time itself. She did have a good six weeks of physiotherapy to look forward to after three more in her stylish cast. And yet, there was a gnawing sense of unease, a vague knowledge that there was something she _needed_ to remember. But what?

A sharp pain coursed through her left leg and Angela snapped. Jabbing the call button repeatedly, she growled when a cheery nurse spoke her name.

"Look lady, I was _blown up_. There's no way in hell I'm sleeping with this leg on fire, so get the damn doctor and tell him I will show him my breasts if he'll give me narcotics with kick. _Now_!"

"I'll speak to him, Ms. Montenegro—"

"No, you will _send him_ or I will tell my husband about the agony I'm keeping from him."

A pause. "He's on his way."

Angela pressed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth as she waited. For all of her hesitation about abusing the power of her husband's wealth, she _did _remember how handy it could be. There would be time for home movies and lost case work later. After a chemical high.

A sheepish nurse arrived with a paper cup of pills with Dr. Reynolds' blessing as a confused Jack returned with their son. Her trembling hands indicated that Angela's tirade – and its implied threat – was understood. She was almost sorry for being rude.

Almost.

* * *

**3354879 Seconds**

"Damn!"

Booth let out a low whistle as he examined the contents of the package while Sweets knocked back a shot of scotch. It was the same reaction he'd had to the notes and print outs Zack had provided, once the fight-or-flight had ebbed away. They sat now in the dining room of Hodgins' family home, documents strewn across a very old and ornate table.

"Okay Sweets, I follow the basics here, but maybe you can run it down in layman's terms?" Booth asked.

Sweets nodded, returning to the table with a shot for each of them. "Starting with the photo of Ethan's code, Zack's made notes on it about a symbol-based system of computer programming. Hodgins said it was a type of artificial intelligence language. I can't follow exactly how he translated it, but he did it."

"The kid's always been brilliant with pattern recognition," Booth noted.

"Any language or cipher is merely a series of rules. Patterns. We both knew if anyone could crack it, it would be him." Picking up a typed sheet, he continued. "From this, Zack has noted that the code created an executable program that allowed the user to insert parameters and determine a response. Specifically, it's an artificial intelligence 'being' that can predict Pelant's behavior within certain confines."

"Ethan created that out of _this_ crap?" Booth shook his head in disbelief.

Sweets shrugged. "He was an expert in the field. It's certainly justification for why Dr. Brennan went to him in the first place."

"And why Pelant would be so terrified of him that he'd murder the guy," Booth added. "I'm guessing these notes about partners and deception are results?"

"Zack managed to run the program – which is on the USB key by the way – and asked it how Pelant would behave if his plans were successful. We know that he hasn't succeeded entirely. The Jeffersonian remains involved and Dr. Brennan has evaded arrest. But we can assume that he's managed to prove his main point, which is that the system is fallible and can be corrupted by the very means we use to keep it safe and secure. Given that, Zack says the program indicated mathematically that Pelant's next move would likely be to simplify the equation. Remove extraneous variables or control them."

"Like a partner?"

Sweets nodded. "Exactly. Pelant believes in the greater good, so stooping to the level of using the government to accomplish his goals makes sense. But ultimately, whoever he's got wrapped around his finger is a dirty cop, for simplicity's sake. A part of the problem. He or she would also be a liability, like Ezra Krane."

Booth sat silently for a long minute, staring at the documents in front of him. Instinctively, his hand reached out and blindly seized the shot Sweets had poured for him. He knocked it back quickly, slamming the glass onto the table.

"He's going to kill again."

"Possibly. But Zack says there's another alternative that even he hadn't previously considered: the partner will kill Pelant first."

Booth grimaced. "And if Pelant dies, our ability to clear Bones takes a huge hit."

Sweets threw back his shot, wincing as the liquid burned all the way down. "Yep. And we're powerless to stop it, because we have no legal way of knowing any of this is a possibility."

Booth shook his head sadly. "Zack figure out the altered time stamp or the other evidence yet?"

Sweets sighed. "He's working on the time stamp. He does suggest that the partner planted the hair evidence as further assurance of arrest. I didn't exactly get to ask questions."

"It's a start," Booth said. "I just hope the kid made it away from the woods."

"I'm certain he was long gone by the time I arrived."

"You okay, Sweets?"

The question he'd been dreading. Gathering up the pages slowly, he avoided the agent's gaze and nodded.

"It's okay not to be," Booth insisted.

"I'm fine. Just… embarrassed." He slid the pages inside the brown envelope, folding it in half. "Don't worry about it."

"Alright." The agent rose, placing a hand on Sweet's shoulder. "Lift back to the Bureau?"

Sweets followed him outside with a look of gratitude that had little to do with the ride itself.

* * *

**3380404 Seconds**

She stared at the call display for five rings, the words tormenting her. _Unknown Caller_. It was that first word that struck fear into her heart. In her experience, nothing good came of answering. Yet here she was, a silly little moth mesmerized by a pretty, pretty light hissing with the carcasses of her acquaintances. _Unknown Caller_, it said. But she knew.

She knew and picked up the receiver anyway.

"Hello?"

"I was beginning to think you were avoiding me." That smug voice. Again.

"What the hell do you want?" she snapped, shivering beneath her bathrobe.

"Your help, of course. Justice for both of us," he replied. "I know you're a great believer in justice."

"Not your brand of it," she retorted. "I'm done listening to you and running your fool's errands. What sort of idiot do you take me for?"

"Now, I never said –"

"Your actions contradict your platitudes. You took advantage of me and my grief. And while yes, I am grateful for the information that confirmed what I knew in my heart to be true, I have no time or energy to get tangled up in all of this." Her chest was heaving with rage as she glanced through the blinds, searching for unwanted guests. "I've been followed and harassed enough. Lose my number."

"It's not that simple. I'm sorry that things didn't work out as hoped with the doctor, but we can move forward in other ways. We _will_ move forward or information you'd like to keep buried might just fall into the wrong hands."

She bit her lip nervously, mulling this threat. How far was she willing to go to protect her secrets? How much longer could she safeguard the truth before he realized she posed a threat to him?

"Leave me alone. I'm being watched, anyway. Just… Just stop."

"I'm afraid that's impossible now. For the greater good. You understand that, don't you?"

Oh, she understood. Her father had died and no one was held accountable, all for the precious _greater good_.

"Fuck you, Pelant!"

Sophia Berman slammed down the phone and silenced the ringer. It didn't matter what that man said anymore. He was no better than the men who'd fleeced her father and shielded the guilty parties, and she'd rather die than be one of them.

He could find someone else's strings to manipulate.

* * *

**_Ugh, I hate Pelant. Hate him! Who took shots at Sweets? Will Daisy be told and go on a roaring crusade to defend Lancelot? What's on the laptop beneath the mess? Who will I put in the way of danger next, cruel woman that I am?  
_**

**_Thank you all for continuing to review. I'm thinking late Friday night for the next chapter (EST). I also believe Brennan's about to find something very, very intriguing herself...  
_**


	15. Chapter 15

**_AN: We're back! Sweets is safe (for now), Sophia seems to be in danger herself, Zack's on the run (or was he in the way of those bullets?), and Pelant's still squeaky clean. GRR. Let's see if our team can make some headway (and stay alive!). Let's also see what Brennan's been up to for the last while...  
_**

**_Lyrics belong to Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper  
_**

**_MUSIC: Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper; Time - Pink Floyd  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**3876933 Seconds**

_University of Arizona  
Tucson, AZ_

Sipping her enormous coffee from the cafeteria, Temperance flipped absently through an archive of papers by University of Arizona students. Having exhausted all major journals and publications connected to computers, police technology and artificial intelligence, she had decided to take a final pass through the pending articles. Proud of their department's research, the university maintained copies in their reserve room to be admired and, as she'd witnessed in past weeks, gloated about.

The last several years had not yielded much in the way of new information and while she was incredibly intelligent, this simply wasn't her area of expertise. Nothing seemed to explain Ethan's code, aside from symbolic languages used in conceptual representations of human-like programs. One article had seemed to indicate that house arrest was fallible, that it was possible, albeit incredibly difficult, to circumvent the technology. However, no details were given as to methodology. Still, it was a start.

Weeks of restless sleep were taking a toll. The words blurred on the page and she blinked hard, frustrated with her weakness. _One more article and I'll head back to the house_, she told herself. The recent work of Young-Jun Son and his doctoral students seemed promising: a system called _Belief-Desire-Intention_ used to predict human behavior during emergency situations had garnered the attention of Homeland Security. It seemed on track to become one of the best tools for law enforcement in the artificial intelligence field, and Brennan wanted more information about it. Within the recent paper lay a reference to Son's doctoral paper and it was this detailed look at the development of the system that she sought within the archives.

Another sip of coffee, another page flipped. The index – a rudimentary typed page – clearly indicated this was the volume she should examine. Had she read it wrong? Flip and flip again… and there! Son's paper, out of numeric page order. Relieved, she rose and inserted her copy card into the closest machine to begin duplication.

_Dad will be relieved too_, she thought wearily. _No more research_.

Angela was awake and this too was a relief to both of them. He father's contacts had determined that she was expected to recover well from her ordeal, although her memory of the incident was lost. Her messages were received, although she sadly could have none in return. Again, logic and emotion were at war within her, and it was incredibly uncomfortable and uncharted territory.

Flipping to the final page, Temperance paused, her eye drawn to the title page of the next paper in the collection. Blinking furiously, she stared in disbelief.

_Ethical Considerations In The Electronic Sharing Of Health Records: Government and Private Vested Interests In Conflict With Amendment Freedoms. Authors: Sophia Berman & Ameya Shendarkar_.

Slamming the pages onto the glass, Temperance decided to copy this latter paper as well. The title alone suggested a potential anti-establishment theme to the work, and given the events surrounding the death of Berman's father… This was too remarkable to ignore.

_Is Berman involved after all_? Booth had insisted Berman's story had checked out. And yet, here she was, writing a paper with one of the authorities on the _Belief-Desire-Intention_ model of behavior prediction. She worked in IT and hated the Bureau. Motive, means… Perhaps they'd simply missed her window of opportunity in their search.

Gathering up her copies, Brennan moved swiftly to replace the volume on the reserve room shelf. As she slid the book into place, she overheard a conversation several feet away.

"You're crazy!" one girl admonished.

"Come on, her face is all over the news," her male companion replied. "The hair's different, sure, but the facial structure is eerily similar."

_Damn it_. She'd been noticed at last. Noticed and identified.

"Why would Temperance Brennan be chilling in our library, reading books?" The young woman's refusal to believe was a very good thing. It was buying Brennan time to pack up her belongings and head for the door.

"Maybe she's looking up more ways to kill people," came the snide reply. "Let's go talk to her."

"No!"

Brennan quickened her pace slightly, holding back from the sprint her gut screamed for as the only possible means of escape. _Don't draw more attention. Don't confirm his theories_. Gripping her bag strap tightly, she slipped out into the parking lot and moved briskly towards her car. It was times like these where she longed for her cell phone. She could warn her father, prepare him for the inevitable move he'd insist on. She had a burner phone, but replacing it would be difficult and she was only to use it in dire emergencies. Her heart was beating well above its average rate but this was not an emergency. Not unless someone pursued her.

She slid behind the wheel and locked the doors before starting the vehicle. In the rear view, she could see the student who'd recognized her standing at the main doors of the library, talking on a cell phone. Taking great care to drive at the posted speeds, Brennan made her way back to the main roads before activating the phone.

"Sweetheart?" Her father sounded frantic. He understood that she wouldn't be calling without reason.

"Someone recognized me at the library. I left and they didn't follow, but they may have called someone."

"Shit!" Max sighed deeply. "Did he get a look at your plates?"

"No, he had no vantage point that would reveal them," she replied, signaling for the ramp onto the interstate.

"Small miracles. I'll pack everything up right now. No more research, Tempe. Not after this."

"I agree. Can you get what I found to them? It's incredibly important," she added, hoping it would assuage his frustration.

"Yeah. A swap. It's about time for a little care package of our own to arrive," Max replied cryptically. "Do you still have the next address?"

"I do. Dad, I'm sorry."

"You can apologize at our next destination. Don't come back to this house. Head straight there. Take the interstate to save time."

Brennan rubbed her eyes, shaking her head. "Dad, I… I can't drive that far. I haven't slept enough for this."

A pause. "Okay, honey. Don't panic. Can you give me four hours?"

"I can do that. But where—"

"Las Cruces. Get off the 10 right where it merges with the 25. Find the closest gas station and park. Call me back then. You understand me?"

The certainty in her father's voice, that protectiveness beneath the calm veneer… It was so Booth-like. She knew there would be one hell of a discussion once they were reunited and a makeover of some kind, but she could deal with that.

"Okay."

"Hang up, honey. Talk soon."

She disconnected the call and turned the phone off, minimizing its ability to be located. There would be no more research, no more unnecessary excursions into the public eye. She would concede that to Max. She could only hope that her findings would prove useful to Booth and her friends in bringing her home, that the sick lurching sensation in her stomach would be rewarded down the line.

Music. She needed distraction, something to keep her alert. Connecting her MP3 player, she pressed play, allowing the randomization function to choose a song. Her body tensed as a familiar melody began, a violent memory sucker-punching her in the gut.

_She was singing. For him. For a brief minute or two, there was a joy she'd not felt in years bubbling within her. Freedom. And his smile was her anchor, her reassurance._

_And then, that sound. The collapse of a body. Her hand on the gun, her eyes fixed on the assailant. Another bang, echoing in her skull as she held her hands to the hole in his torso and begged him not to leave. Insisted that he be strong, as he always was. Booth was strength personified. He couldn't leave her alone. She couldn't imagine a day without his presence. _

_He was her shelter, her safe harbor. The one person aside from Angela who understood her perhaps eccentric ways and helped her feel more… average. Like she belonged. When his eyes closed, her fear consumed her._

This was another song… She had never listened to _that_ song again. But it was the same voice, the same album, and a part of her died anew because it was _this_ song that she'd clung to during those weeks of believing she'd lost him forever. It was _this_ song she'd played when she'd returned home and iced her hand after punching him at his funeral.

"_Sometimes, you picture me  
I'm walking too far ahead  
You're calling to me  
I can't hear what you've said…_"

One more secret. One more sign she'd intentionally ignored, for fear of not being worthy of a deeper affection from a man with an enormous heart. One more truth she would share with him, if ever given the chance again_. _Drumming her fingers on the wheel, Temperance sang along at the top of her lungs, desperately wishing she could be heard across state lines.

"_If you're lost, you can look and you will find me  
Time after time  
If you fall, I will catch you  
I'll be waiting  
Time after time…_"

* * *

**3885879 Seconds**

The phone rang and Booth immediately swore, tucking the last of his files into his desk. He'd been so goddamn close to escaping the office on time for a change and after the continuous dead ends lately, he needed a night of beer and mindless TV. With a grimace, he lifted the receiver on the sixth ring.

"Booth."

"It's Hacker."

His boss sounded strangely anxious, which concerned Booth greatly. Settling back into his chair, he leaned back and waited for an explanation.

"As a courtesy, given your report lodged with Metro, I'm letting you know that Dr. Temperance Brennan was sighted in Tucson a few hours ago."

The phone nearly slid from his grip as the meaning of the words registered. _Bones. Someone saw Bones_. But if they'd seen her, did that mean she was in custody?

"Sighted? Sir, was she—"

"She was not apprehended, Agent Booth. The call came in from a student at the University of Arizona. No verification had been made of the sighting at this time."

"What about my daughter?" Booth asked tentatively.

"There was no sighting of the child or Max," Hacker said. "The theory is that the child was with her father at the time of the sighting. In any case, I thought you would like to hear this before it hit the evening news."

"I appreciate the courtesy, sir. Thank you."

The call ended, Booth glanced at the family photo nearby with a slight smile. Bones was alive and still outside the system. Why she was in Arizona, he couldn't begin to guess, although he was somewhat proud of being proven right about New York being a bluff.

_I could fly out tonight_. It was a whim and he immediately quashed it. Undoubtedly, Bones knew she'd been made and was already fleeing the area. By the time he hit the tarmac, she'd be in another state. As much as it pained him, he needed to stay here and keep searching.

Under his secret instructions from Hacker, Booth had pored over Pelant's case file from his little _hacktivism_ experiment, examining each and every report and transcript. Ezra Krane had covered the Pelant trial; he'd later helped the bastard and ended up dead for it. Information from Krane and Pelant's own snooping had brought Sophia Berman onto his radar; now, the woman was popping up everywhere in this mess. From this, Booth had decided that perhaps the Bureau leak was an agent somehow associated with that original case. One by one, he'd made a list of names, only to eliminate them as implausible candidates. No one was jumping out at him, and the failure was taking a toll. The fact that the mobile bug had yielded no trace of the person responsible and the footage was still trashed also weighed heavily on him.

Once again, he rose and headed out for the evening, waving to Charlie as he passed his desk. There had to be another connection he hadn't yet considered in this mess. Some other way for Pelant to find an ally by coercion. As he passed an agent with a stack of files marked 'Confidential', the obvious reached out and struck him in the head.

_The CI files!_

If Pelant were blackmailing an agent and aiding on an article concerning FBI corruption, he wouldn't simply choose the file room for disposing of Johannsen's body. It would serve a dual purpose. Booth recalled what Hodgins had learned from Zack about Pelant's personality and his tolerance for working with an enemy to suit his needs. What better enemy than an agent who'd buried a CI file without due process?

Stepping outside, Booth reached for his cell phone en route to his SUV. It was time to bury a hatchet and wrangle a favour.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Camille."

"Don't call me Camille, Seeley!" Old reflexes never died, it seemed. A half-laugh escaped from Cam before she tentatively asked, "What's going on?"

"I have an unofficial suggestion for the course of the Sawyer investigation," Booth replied. "Can I trust you with it?"

"This hasn't been easy for me," she said quietly. "I'm just doing my job. Please tell me you know that."

He half-believed her, but he needed her cooperation. "I know. Can I throw this idea out and have it become your own?"

"Yeah, fire away."

"Cam—"

"Booth, have a little faith, alright? What is it?"

He glanced around, satisfying himself that he wouldn't be heard. "If Pelant has an ally that he's blackmailing with that fishing program Angela uncovered, who better than an agent tied to the CI files?"

"You mean the ones where Inger was found?" Cam paused for a moment. "That's a very good point. Wouldn't it be like a threat of exposure to ensure cooperation?"

"You read my mind. Will you pull them?"

"I'll call Cullen. If I find anything, I'll happen to fill Hodgins in."

Booth paused beside his car. "Thanks, Cam."

"I want to bring them home too, Seeley. But I won't risk giving him a loophole."

He hung up, tucking the phone back into his pocket and trading it for his keys in the process. With Cam examining that angle, he could take the evening off to recharge and celebrate the knowledge that Pelant hadn't somehow found his family and secretly harmed them. Tomorrow, he could badger Shaw again about the bug in Christine's room and the security footage, follow up with the monitoring company. As he unlocked the door of the Sequoia, a hand grabbed for his ankle from beneath it. Cursing, he jumped back, reached for his personal weapon and aimed down.

"Agent Booth!"

He recognized that voice. Crouching down, he found himself face to face with Zack Addy.

"What the hell are you doing?" Booth hissed.

"Hiding beneath your car. You had a GPS tracker under here, by the way," the young man added, waving the device at him.

"I could have shot you, genius. Someone could have seen you here."

"I took great precautions. I need your help, Agent Booth. Someone's trying to kill me."

Booth glanced around frantically. "You realize if I'm seen with you and I don't arrest you, I'm screwed."

Zack shimmied from beneath the vehicle and produced a switchblade from his pocket. "I kidnapped you. Now, please, help me. Please."

Booth kicked the pavement and opened the driver's side door. "Fine. Hurry up and lay down in back. Don't say a word inside."

He couldn't leave the kid, no matter how creepy he could be. He was working to save Booth's family and that was a debt he had to repay. Besides, Hodgins loved the guy. He'd let him deal with this little problem.

* * *

**_So I'm several chapters ahead on this story and am aiming to have the rest written within the next week. Your call: do you want the new chapters rapid-fire, or spread out to tease you? Review and let me know!  
_**

**_Also: Dr. Son's article on BDI exists, as does the system. The paper Sophia wrote is bogus, although her co-author also works with BDI and other AI subjects. Do a little hunting for AI and University of Arizona if you're curious for more information.  
_**

**_Thank you for your continued support!  
_**


	16. Chapter 16

**_AN: The consensus seems to be post more! Post now! So for the next bit, I'll be posting chapters 1-2 days apart, depending on how writing's going. I'd hate for any lag to happen.  
_**

**_Zack's back! Bren and Max have bolted to a new place. Angela's still a ball of fuzzy brain and Cam's digging into the CI files. Let's see what's new with our beloved characters.  
_**

**_MUSIC: Too Slow To Ride - Nina Gordon; Butterflies and Hurricanes - Muse  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**3986100 Seconds**

_Abilene, TX_

"Stay inside the house—"

"Dad –"

"And don't open the door for anyone, or the drapes. I shouldn't be longer than four hours—"

"Dad!"

"When I get back, we'll cut and lighten your hair right up—"

"Dad! Enough!" Temperance shouted, wincing as Christine whimpered down the hall. "I'm not an idiot. I know I pushed things in Arizona and I won't make that mistake again. And in my defense, we were there for over a month."

Max nodded ruefully. "Okay, I'm sorry. It's just that we don't know how long it will take for them to clear you and there are only so many houses I have access to."

Christine broke into a full-on wail and Temperance groaned. "I should have controlled my temper. And I appreciate the limited resources we have. I'll stay quiet and out of sight until you return. I promise."

Her father kissed her cheek lightly and grabbed a large brown envelope from the coffee table. "Everything is in here now?"

"Yes. And I wore gloves, like you asked, although the articles likely have my prints all the same."

Max shrugged. "My guy will photocopy them and shred the originals. Don't worry about that. I love you, Tempe."

"Love you too, Dad." Glancing down the hall, she sighed. "Christine isn't going to settle. Go on. We'll see you soon."

She heard the front door slam shut behind her as she made her way to the back of the house, where she and Christine were sleeping. The deadbolt also engaged and Brennan felt her body relax ever so slightly. The near-miss in Tucson the day before had shaken her deeply and it felt as if adrenaline production had gone into overdrive. The creaking of floorboards, the flush of the toilet, it all caught her off guard.

Christine was whining in her crib when she entered the room, hands pawing at the air above her. With a soft smile, she lifted her daughter into her arms.

"I'm sorry, Christine. I shouldn't have raised my voice." She began pacing the room, shifting her weight from side to side in a gentle sway that Booth often employed. "You were just changed and I don't detect the odor of excrement. You've eaten recently. I assume you're merely unhappy with the change in sleeping environment."

The infant sobbed once, a weak, pitiful noise, her gaze fixed on her mother's features. The guilt she felt for uprooting her daughter, for depriving her of her father, was all she could feel now. While Christine remained nonverbal, Brennan sensed that she would hear quite an earful from her progeny if she were able to speak.

"I've sent your father information that I hope he can use to persuade the authorities to abandon their belief that I'm a murderer," she explained gently. "And your grandfather is retrieving something he says will facilitate my own investigation. I'm cautiously optimistic that we'll make it home before the end of the summer, although it's hard to know with any scientific certainty."

A half-smile and a wink suggested – impossibly, of course – that her daughter understood. More likely, the cadence of her voice and tone were lulling Christine back to sleep. _Keep talking_.

"Would you like me to tell you more about your father? I know you miss him, as do I. Allow me a moment to think of an age-appropriate story. It's difficult, given our professions, but I suppose I can self-censor again." Brennan smiled as she remembered one of her favourite cases. "Your father and I were called to Las Vegas, which is an entirely too hot city surrounded by desert. A woman was permanently asleep and we needed to find out why. It's not the same sleep as that story about the girl with the diminutive men in the cottage… what was that called? Ice Blue? It doesn't matter. There's no ice in Las Vegas."

Christine gurgled happily as she sat on the edge of her bed, caressing the child's face. She looked more like Booth with every passing week, right down to that half-smile that made her feel flush.

"We got to go undercover, which is like a game of dressing up, only much more elaborate. Your father wanted me to be his fiancée but I don't believe in marriage. Or didn't. I'm somewhat on the rail about that one now. I was his girlfriend, Roxie. I remember he bought me a dress, which struck me as strange since I'd never disclosed my dress size. It fit wonderfully. Your father's got a great eye for classic lines."

Brennan chuckled to herself, imagining all of the dresses Booth would buy Christine as she grew. She would, of course, argue for a balance of gender-neutral garments but had already resigned herself to this "Daddy's Princess" business he and Angela spoke of.

"Your father's face when I modeled that garment was, shall we say, very approving. It was flattering to feel beautiful, like an old movie star. No one before had ever made me feel beautiful. Sexually pleasing, yes. But not beautiful." With a wistful smile, she continued. "Truth be told, he looked very handsome as well. There was something strangely arousing about him fighting, which I blame on biochemical reactions and anthropological conditioning. In the end, we caught the bad person, but more importantly, your father resisted the greatest temptation for someone with a gambling problem. I was so proud of him for that strength. If you're half as strong as he is, you'll go incredibly far in life."

She smiled at Christine's drooping eyelids, pleased with the success of her bedtime narrative. Rising slowly, she spoke softly. "Your father once admitted that he chose to quit gambling for good on the night we almost consummated our attraction. He suggested I was the impetus, but it wasn't me. It was his recognition of his own value, his goodness. Never doubt how good a man he is, Christine. Never doubt that you, too, are good."

Gently tucking her daughter back into her crib, Temperance hugged herself tightly. She hoped he would understand her personal message, hoped he would know who could decipher it for him. She needed him to know how deeply he'd changed her understanding of emotional relationships. He needed to know that her decision was made primarily out of love for him – a love she'd denied for years.

"I love you," she whispered to the darkness.

* * *

**3890491 Seconds**

To say that Hodgins was surprised to see Zack Addy seated on his living room sofa would be an understatement of the highest order. Booth had opted not to risk phoning the entomologist, choosing instead to let them in with his own key and await his return from the hospital. And when said entomologist walked in with his son in tow, the reaction was perplexing.

He stood silently, staring at the disheveled genius for a good long minute. A silent exchange seemed to play out between them, during which Booth remained tensed, prepared to break up any altercation. When Hodgins spoke at last, his voice was strangely devoid of emotion.

"Booth, could you please take Michael?"

He took the child immediately, setting him down in his playpen to ensure freedom of movement in case… well, in case.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Hodgins," Zack said quietly. "I was nearly shot and Booth has a gun."

Hodgins took a step forward and Booth immediately began to panic. _This is it. This is what's going to push him over the limit. Between Bones and Angela, this is the tipping point_. Zack rose to his feet timidly, as if ready to accept whatever punishment Hodgins deemed fitting.

Instead, Hodgins embraced the escaped patient, laughing hard, and Booth threw up his hands in confusion and decided he'd sit this one out. With a beer. He brushed past them, heading for the kitchen without a word.

"Dude! It's so good to see you!" Hodgins exclaimed. "I was worried when you busted out that maybe Pelant had actually… well, repeated history."

"No, I chose to leave. It was rather simple to do. I've explained this before, but I remain in the hospital because I want to be there. Their notions of security are based on the principles of violence and assumptions of feeble-minded people being sent there. I am not feeble. I merely made poor choices rooted in faulty logic."

Booth cracked open his beer and returned to find them standing casually in the centre of the room, as if discussing a sports game. He shrugged and sunk into a large chair, watching things play out.

"Wait, you said someone shot at you?" Hodgins glanced at Booth. "Does this have to do with what happened to Sweets?"

"I think so," Booth said.

"I was watching him retrieve my package," Zack explained. "Someone shot at me from behind. I ran. I couldn't return when the other shots were fired to check on the doctor. Was he injured?"

"No, he's fine Zack."

"I need to find somewhere safe to continue working, or arm myself," Zack continued. "I no longer have a domicile and cannot procure any sort of temporary lodgings without money. My assets are held in a trust by my family and I am certain they would report me to authorities."

"You can't stay here," Booth said firmly.

"Booth—"

"Hodgins, if it was found that you and I were harboring him, I'd lose my badge and you'd be off the case. It could be the final blow that removes the Jeffersonian entirely."

Zack nodded. "Agent Booth is correct. I cannot stay here, although I appreciate the offer, Hodgins."

Hodgins frowned, mumbling to himself for some time. "Okay, the estate's no good. The hospital's accessible to Pelant. The answer's simple: you need to find a hole somewhere and hide."

"I have no monetary assets to procure a suitable—"

"Shut up, Z-Man," Hodgins interjected, moving quickly to a nearby painting. Pulling it off the wall, he revealed a home safe.

"Seriously?" Booth asked, swigging his beer.

"I don't trust banks to begin with. After what happened to Caroline and Dr. B, I _really_ don't trust them." With several spins, he opened the safe and withdrew a bound stack of bills and a box. "Problem's solved." He slammed the safe shut and replaced the painting before handing the items to Zack.

"Hodgins, this is a lot of money," Zack protested.

"Ten grand. That should keep you safe until we find the antivirus, right?" Hodgins smiled at their shared joke.

"Certainly. And the box—"

"A disposable prepaid cell phone. Use in case of emergency and call me. I'll figure things out." Hodgins shrugged. "It's the least I can do for my best friend, right?"

"For the record, I wasn't here for this discussion," Booth announced, noting sadly that his beer was already finished.

"But Agent Booth, you are seated right there—"

"Pretend, Zack. Lie if anyone ever asks," Hodgins stressed.

"Oh. Okay, then." Glancing down at the money and box, he frowned. "I can't walk around like this. I assume it would be an invitation for a criminal to accost me."

Booth chuckled. "Uh, yeah. Hodgins, a bag?"

"What's the rush? You hungry, Zack?"

"I do find myself in need of a meal," he admitted.

Hodgins grinned. "I'll order pizza then. You can eat before you run, and I can give you puzzle pieces to play with."

"I don't understand."

"Case stuff. Pelant." Hodgins rolled his eyes. "You haven't changed, man. I'll make the call. Booth, check the desk for the book and film lists?"

"Only if you bring another beer back from that kitchen."

"It's our last night of bachelor life. Why do you think there's a six-pack in the fridge?"

Booth smiled. Hodgins played a good game of Happy Bachelor, but the true joy in his eyes came from Angela's impending release in the morning. She would be in a wheelchair until her left hand was healed, but she would be home. He understood far too well how much that meant to his friend.

He handed the lists over to Zack as requested, who studied them quickly and nodded. "No one could watch this many films in such a short span."

"We know. The books launched the code that hacked the CIA and FBI via altered scan labels," Booth added.

"Dr. Sweets gave me that code. I've committed it to memory."

He was so nonchalant, as if memorizing hundreds of lines of programming gibberish was perfectly average. Booth shook his head, long having given up on understanding his mind.

"I think I'd like to take a nap before eating," Zack announced. "I didn't sleep last night and the exertion of fleeing on foot has taken a toll on me. There aren't many opportunities to exercise in the institution."

"Sure thing. Head down the hall and grab the first bedroom on the right. We'll wake you when there's food."

Zack took a few tentative steps, then turned around. "Thank you, Agent Booth. I know you still hold disdain towards me for my actions as the Apprentice. You're as good as Dr. Brennan has always said."

Booth's eyebrow raised. "Bones? When did she say that?"

Zack grinned. "When we were alone, working on remains. She always spoke highly of you. Even I understood that you two were well-suited for a romantic pairing, just as Angela said."

And with that, Zack retreated down the hall, leaving Booth speechless. _She talked about me back then? But that was years ago! _While he'd denied the depth of his feelings for years, he ultimately knew that he'd seen her in that lecture hall years ago and _known_ that they were connected, that they always would be. She was independent like Rebecca and Hannah, feisty even, but also kind in her own way. Guarded, not cold. She'd dazzled him with beauty and mesmerized him with her passion. Not once had she ever indicated any attraction beyond that tequila-soaked night and her shooting him down.

Suddenly, Booth felt as if Bones had a lot of secrets still locked within her heart and he longed to hear them.

"Pizza and wings are on the way!" Hodgins announced. "Where's Zackaroni?"

"Napping. Kid hasn't slept." Booth accepted an outstretched beer, gently clinking the bottle against the twin Hodgins held. "To Angela coming home tomorrow."

"Yeah, that'll be nice. Did I tell you that they're pretty sure she didn't break the hand?"

"That's good, right?"

"She'll need physio for the injury either way, but if the x-ray tomorrow morning is clear, she might be able to ditch the splint in another week. Angie's pretty happy about that. The wheelchair's pissing her off."

"She still won't be up on crutches if the muscles are screwed," Booth cautioned.

Hodgins took a large mouthful of beer and shook his head. "Yeah, I'll let Dr. Reynolds tell her that. I'm playing dumb."

"Good idea, my man."

"You know, Angie's considering not returning to the lab." Hodgins' face clouded over as he revealed this. "She's really unsettled about life in general. I think she misses being an artist and roaming free."

Booth nodded. "There's a reason she's the heart of our group. She struggles to turn hers off, remain detached. With this mess with Bones and the explosion, I'm not shocked. How do you feel about it?"

Hodgins leaned against a wall, distressed. "She already talked about quitting before the damn bomb. I'd miss the extra time with her, but her happiness is what matters most. If she wants to quit, I'll support her. I just worry that she's unhappy with being in D.C. in general. She really loved Paris, Booth. I love her, but I do love my job… Hell, do I sound like an asshole?"

Booth shook his head. "If Bones asked me to quit, I would, but I'd miss it. It would take adjustment. Look, I'm not exactly king of relationships, but I do know that compromise is crucial. Angela loves you. She wouldn't want to make you miserable."

"I guess not."

The ring of Booth's cell phone placed the conversation on hold. Glancing at the display, Booth hit answer.

"Hey Cam. What's up?"

"Is Hodgins with you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'll throw you on speaker." Hitting a few keys, he told her to continue.

"I got a look at the CI files," she began.

"Already?"

Cam chuckled. "I went to Hacker. He jumped at the opportunity to drive them over to the lab personally. Besides, it didn't take long for me to realize that we'd struck gold."

Booth nearly dropped the phone. "Gold? Don't throw that term around lightly, Cam, or so help me—"

"Shut up, Seeley," Cam snapped. "I'm only halfway through the files and I've found something incredibly interesting. Are you sitting down guys?"

"Yeah," Booth lied. Hodgins stifled a chuckle. "Hit us."

The smile on Cam's face carried through the line in her words. "It would seem that a certain FBI agent who's a continual pain in the Jeffersonian posterior was the agent of record on not one, but _two _of these damn files."

"Hell yeah!" Hodgins exclaimed. "How soon can we nail his ass?"

"Rein it in, Dr. Hodgins. We need to move with care on this. Tomorrow, all of the interns are coming in and it's all hands on deck. We're going to carefully play connect the dots between the Johannsen, Krane and Sawyer murders and this will be the cherry on top of a Conflict Of Interest sundae. I know Angela's coming home, but is there any way you can make it in to review particulates?"

Before he could speak, Booth jumped in. "I'll take a half day. I'll stay here with Angela for the afternoon."

"You sure?"

"I can't work the damn case, Hodgins. Please, work it for me," Booth pleaded. "I'll buy Ange a chick flick and keep her entertained. If you tell her it's for Bones, she'll approve."

"You heard the man, Dr. Saroyan," Hodgins said. "I'm in."

"Excellent. Booth, this is a starting point. I doubt we can get the warrant dropped with this," Cam warned.

"I know. But seeing that smirk wiped off Flynn's face will be satisfying enough."

"Tell me about it!" Booth and Hodgins laughed at Cam's blatant exasperation with the agent. "See you tomorrow, Dr. Hodgins. Give Angela our love."

"Will do."

"Thanks, Cam," Booth said warmly.

"We'll bring her home, Seeley. I promise."

The call ended, Booth and Hodgins shared a moment of gloating. Maybe Flynn was dirty; maybe he was simply a bastard. Either way, he would be getting a swift boot from the Jeffersonian, clearing the way for further investigation.

"I'm tempted to bring popcorn to the Hoover when Cam tells the Bureau about this," Hodgins mused.

"Bring a big bag. We'll watch from my office. Glass walls."

Hodgins grinned, finishing his beer. "Another?"

"Yes! This calls for a celebration," Booth enthused, downing the remainder of his second bottle.

_We're getting closer, Bones_, he thought happily. _Hang on just a little longer._

* * *

**_Bam! Looks like Flynn isn't as squeaky clean as he'd like to seem... Get your popcorn ready because the next chapter's going to be fun.  
_**

**_Thank you for your continued support!  
_**


	17. Chapter 17

**_AN: Do I see Flynn in trouble? I do? Commence happy dance! This one's a bit short, but necessary... A little comic relief in here too, featuring my favourite Squintern (who's still active, that is).  
_**

**_MUSIC: Power Struggle - Sunna  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**40320102 Seconds**

A small crowd was gathering in the hallway now, many clutching their morning fix of caffeine. A hushed murmur grew louder as a voice began to scream and curse within the board room, all ears collectively straining to pick apart the few discernible words. _Outrage… lies… _ At the far end of the corridor, a glint of sun from a nearby window reflected off a memorable belt buckle as a woman chuckled over her own coffee.

"Thanks for inviting me up here, Cheri," Caroline Julian whispered.

Booth grinned. "For a coffee and a catch up between friends? Think nothing of it. I apologize for the unusual level of noise this morning."

Caroline stifled a chuckle of her own. "It is a little loud in there. I can't imagine why. Dr. Saroyan is such a lovely, soft-spoken woman."

"And Hacker's not bright enough to be angry over much," Booth quipped.

"Mind your tongue, Seeley. We also have an audience."

Booth sipped his piping hot coffee, watching with bemusement as his coworkers gossiped wildly. It was refreshing to not be the main topic of water cooler discussion for a change. It really was a shame that Hodgins couldn't come and witness this glorious moment.

Inside the room, Cam was struggling to contain her own amusement as an extremely irate and uncharacteristically emotive Agent Hayes Flynn engaged in a screaming match with Assistant Director Andrew Hacker.

"This is a set-up! Revenge for our pursuit of their colleague as a suspect in a murder where _all of the evidence they collected_ points to her!" Flynn shouted. "This woman and her team of anti-government lab rats have given me nothing but resistance since I was made the FBI liaison with the Jeffersonian. Frankly, if anyone should be removed from the case, it should be them!"

"Agent Flynn, I have seen no signs of resistance from a team of professionals I have come to know well over the last eight years," Hacker stated calmly. "I do have emails and reports indicating your refusal to examine evidence indicating the possibility of another suspect –"

"They had nothing concrete!" Flynn protested.

"And I also have your dismissal of Dr. Lance Sweets from this case on the grounds that he examined the evidence and found that the profile did not solely match Dr. Brennan. That alone can be overlooked, but given the clear connections now established between the Johannsen, Krane and Sawyer cases and the fact that to this day, we still cannot explain how a body ended up in a locked file room with evidence of improper CI handling, I have no choice but to question your objectivity. You improperly cleared and filed two of those cases yourself."

"I had authorization from a superior," Flynn protested.

"I see nothing in writing to support that," Hacker countered. "I'm sorry, but given the high profile of Pelant's previous actions, the delicate nature of this CI disaster and Dr. Brennan's notoriety, the FBI must be beyond reproach. Your temporary role as Jeffersonian liaison is terminated immediately. You will turn all related case materials over to Agent Genevieve Shaw."

Cam felt the urge to take the lab out for a round of drinks after work. Perhaps three rounds. Shaw was a good agent, one they all could relate to. She was also helping with the attack on Angela – another matter Flynn had been avoiding.

"Fine. Scapegoat me, then," Flynn remarked bitterly before storming out of the board room.

Hacker and Cam sat across the table from each other, reflecting silently on the exchange they'd just witnessed. As Hacker cracked a smile, Cam matched it, relieved.

"That went rather well," Hacker said.

"Oh, yes. Very smooth."

"I'll have Agent Shaw report to the Jeffersonian this afternoon to be brought up to speed," he added casually. "Please have everything ready for her, Dr. Saroyan."

"Certainly, sir."

Cam gathered her notes and slipped out into the hall, mulling a visit to Booth's office briefly. She nixed the idea as she spotted Agent Flynn storming towards him. _Now's about to be a bad time_, she thought anxiously. She jammed the down button for the elevator, eyes averted. _Please don't hit him, Seeley. Please, please don't hit the man_…

For his part, Booth was expecting Flynn to approach him and remained stoic beside Caroline, who, like Cam, mulled a hasty departure. A part of her believed it prudent to remain near, if only to prevent Booth from making a fool of himself. Her self-preservation sent her three steps backwards, just in case. The fire in Flynn's eyes was disturbing, to say the least.

"Hey, Flynn. What's wrong?" Booth asked lightly.

"You know damn well what's wrong," he growled. "You orchestrated this, Booth. I'm no idiot. That lab full of misfits is wrapped around your finger and when I find evidence of their bias, I'll have the Medico-Legal Lab shut down and discredited."

"Flynn, I'm on desk duty. I may never get that job back and frankly at this point, I don't care. I just want my partner and daughter back alive." Booth's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, refusing to be intimidated. "The Squints are anything but biased. If they were, Bones would be here and we'd be after Pelant already."

"I'm watching you," Flynn hissed. "I see far more than people seem to think and if you think you can destroy the career I've worked for, you'll discover what pain truly is."

The agent spun on his heel, grumbling at the milling gossips to disperse as he stormed back to his office. Booth released a breath he'd unwittingly been holding, glancing over at Caroline with a forced smile.

"I think he's taking it well."

Caroline let out a low whistle. "Cher, you need to watch your back around that man. He's got 'loose cannon' tattooed on him."

"Loose cannons make mistakes, Caroline," Booth replied. "And when he does make one, I'll be waiting."

* * *

**4044681 Seconds**

Having spent the previous day putting all of their evidential ducks back in a row, the only thing left to do at the Jeffersonian was wait for Agent Shaw to arrive. Idle scientists were the playthings of speculation and Cam found herself drawn into the guessing game by Hodgins and Fisher.

"Hodgins, you're the conspiracy theorist and you somehow doubt Flynn's the accomplice?" Fisher asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm not just a conspiracy theorist! I'm a scientist with a healthy skepticism towards the government," Hodgins replied defensively. "And I never said he _wasn't_, only that we couldn't confirm he _was_."

"Gentlemen, tread carefully. The walls have ears," Cam cautioned.

Fisher sipped his herbal tea, rolling his eyes. "Inger Johannsen is killed and her spine is rearranged into a cipher for Dr. Hodgins to solve. We find the rest of her oozing into a box of files for Confidential Informants. Said box contains two files where Agent Flynn said, 'Oops! Felonies aren't so bad' and made charges go away. Booth is suspended and Flynn steps in and not only takes his job, but confiscates his badge and gun. Not Booth's boss, _Flynn_. He then moves to ditch Dr. Sweets, whom one could argue was tremendously loyal to Booth and Dr. Brennan. Angela discovers that Pelant is reading FBI emails. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid, and neither are you two."

"Well thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy," Hodgins grumbled.

"I'd like to take a moment and point out that this evidence is even more circumstantial than the evidence against Dr. Brennan that we all are determined to refute," Cam said, leaning against the platform rail.

"She's right, Fisher. "

A chirping, happy show tune rang out from Fisher's lab coat pocket. Examining the call display, he groaned and silenced it. Hodgins and Cam exchanged a knowing look. _His mother_. Although Fisher had moved out into his own space, his mother still called frequently.

"I grant you that point, Dr. Saroyan. If we assume that Agent Flynn is merely obstinate and closed off to the theories of others, then he remains a shining example of FBI corruption. He is as bad as the agent that dismissed the Berman charges."

"Which brings us back to his daughter, Sophia," Hodgins said, tapping the still Angela had taken from the security footage. "Even if she has an alibi, she may know something. Hell, she may not even understand what she knows."

"I plan to address that with Agent Shaw, particularly in light of Flynn's connection. If the CI files are the key to Pelant's ultimate agenda, Berman may be an accomplice or a liability," Cam concluded.

"Making Agent Flynn the very same thing," Fisher added. "If he's been an ally, his removal from the case devalues him."

"Zack said that Pelant would reduce the variables," Hodgins said. Cam cleared her throat and Hodgins added, "I mean, Angela's cracked code indicated that. Either way, Flynn could be a walking target."

"Surveillance might be beneficial," Fisher noted. His phone rang again and he groaned. "I'm changing my number."

Hodgins chuckled. "I'm surprised you haven't already."

"You haven't met my mother," Fisher said with obvious distress. "This Pelant guy… He's an ego-maniac, isn't he? Very 'look what I can do'?"

"Or 'look what I can get away with' as he laughs at us," Cam griped.

Fisher nodded. "So why are we giving him attention? My shrink in group therapy noted that we had such a personality. Adam, the narcissist. He urged all of us to stop responding when he acted out and refuse to allow him to derail our discussions. It infuriated him, but it was apparently a breakthrough. He works at the Starbucks near my apartment now. Very good with lattes."

"Fisher's got a point. Maybe ignoring Pelant will make him act out, or more importantly, make a mistake."

"God knows we could use a break, Dr. Hodgins. And without much else to go on, aside from Sophia Berman or trailing Agent Flynn, it might be strategically wise to ignore the case," Cam mused.

The sound of footsteps triggered a hush in the lab, three sets of eyes glancing towards the lab entrance. A very anxious Agent Shaw entered, a notepad in hand and her cell phone propped against her ear as she wrote on it.

"Okay… 341, right? Got it…. I'm already here, so I'll let them know. Thank you, sir."

"Hello, Agent Shaw," Cam called out.

"Dr. Saroyan, Dr. Hodgins," she said quickly, glancing to Fisher. "I'm sorry, I don't remember you."

"The interns rotate. You'll learn them all, and likely block Ms. Wick from memory. This is Colin Fisher."

"Charmed," he deadpanned, sipping tea.

Shaw studied Fisher with a confused look then shook her head. "I know we were supposed to review the case files, but I've just received a call about a body found in a storage locker. The registered owner's from out of state so it's ours."

"Mr. Fisher, can you grab the kits?" Cam asked. "Dr. Edison's off ill, so you'll be in the field with us."

"Afternoon delight," Fisher remarked morbidly, disappearing before anyone could chastise him.

"Agent Shaw, were you able to at least review the notes on Sophia Berman?"

The agent nodded. "Yes, Dr. Saroyan. I contacted her home and office numbers. She's away on three weeks' vacation, with no known location or emergency contact number. It was booked in January, so she likely hasn't fled. Her boss assured me she always takes off this time of year."

Cam was impressed. "Excellent. I suppose we'll have to wait out the three weeks then."

Shaw smiled. "I've flagged her credit cards and passport, just in case. I'm here to help, Dr. Saroyan."

"A refreshing change of pace," Hodgins muttered under his breath.

"I have the kits," Fisher announced.

"Alright team, let's go take a look at that storage locker."

Cam could sense a light at the end of this hellish tunnel. Shaw was speedy and helpful, eager to please and make her name in the Bureau. Fisher had a point: perhaps ignoring Pelant would drive him into rushed action and tip the bastard's hand. A fresh case was just what they needed.

Behind her, Fisher's phone rang and she rolled her eyes. At least some things hadn't changed in the last few months.

* * *

**4062729 Seconds**

"It's about time you called," Christopher Pelant responded angrily to the caller.

"I was tied up with official business. We can't afford any further speculation," his partner replied angrily.

"Are they still looking at me?"

The partner sighed. "Sort of, although a new case got handed to them tonight. Should keep them busy for a good week or so. Either way, you need to stop pushing buttons, Pelant."

"But that's what I do best," he joked. "Tap a few keys, reveal a few lies, make people disappear."

"Look, I'm serious now. You may think you're some sort of goddamn genius but remember this: we're both capable of murder and I won't hesitate to lash out if my cover's blown."

"Are you actually threatening me? That's pretty amusing," Pelant replied. "Without my assistance, where would you be?"

"Exactly where I am." The hardness in his partner's voice was unexpected and slightly unnerving. "You need to learn to stay out of the spotlight so I can sweep your sloppy work under the rug. Something you've made a lot harder, by the way. Eyes are everywhere now."

"You're used to blending into a crowd. We're two of a kind that way."

Pelant was growing nervous. This was his mission, his game. His partner had been increasingly demanding, even shifting their strategy without asking. The hostility was becoming a problem.

"I have to go. Stay out of my way and stay out of trouble, or I won't hesitate to protect my interests, Christopher."

The click and ensuing dial tone told him all he needed to know. It was time to simplify, strip back to the basics. He'd play nice for the benefit of the men shadowing him to and from work, just for now. When the opportunity arose, he'd cut his losses and retreat into the shadows.

After all, his mother always said he didn't play nice with others.

* * *

**_Well, wasn't that a lovely, light breather? I hope you've all caught your breath. The next chapter is... dramatic. That's a good word for it.  
_**

**_I love Fisher. He'll probably pop up again before the end, just because I adore him. He's so sardonic. Who's your fave Squintern (of those still squinting at the Jeffersonian - otherwise we'd all say Zack, wouldn't we)?  
_**


	18. Chapter 18

**_AN: This chapter is... a rollercoaster. Long and action-packed. Possibly a tissue warning needed.  
_**

**_Lyrics are from Breathe - Melissa Etheridge. I obviously don't own those.  
_**

**_Music: Monster Hospital - Metric; Keep The Faith - Bon Jovi; Breathe - Melissa Etheridge  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**4989543 Seconds**

"Babe, are you sure you don't want the chair?"

Angela glared at Jack as she edged forward, leaning heavily on her crutches. "If you ask me one more time, I may just file for divorce on the grounds of _shut the hell up_!"

Jack remained quiet as he walked beside her, carrying her purse and lunch from the diner. Cabin fever had set in quickly in the Montenegro-Hodgins home and while Angela remained uncertain about her future with the Jeffersonian, the moment she'd been cleared for crutches, she'd demanded to return to work. They'd compromised on half days until her cast came off, but the wheelchair had been vetoed altogether.

"Angela?" Daisy squealed as they rounded the corner. "Oh it's so good to see you back! Things haven't been the same without you here, and of course there's the whole 'surviving a bomb' thing and well, it's so good to see you! How is your leg –"

"Daisy? What does your Lancelot tell you?" Hodgins asked wryly.

"I'm sorry," the intern responded automatically. "But Dr. Hodgins, this is an exceptional circumstance and I truly am happy to see you back Angela."

Angela sighed. "Thank you, Daisy. Where's everyone at?"

"Dr. Saroyan's in a meeting with the big wigs of the Jeffersonian, and I was just heading out for lunch. Dr. Edison's finishing up with the remains from the storage locker case – final prep for storage, I mean." She giggled. "It's a whole new kind of storage for the body now!"

The intern was visibly struggling to contain her excitement, her limbs twitching as she clasped her hands in front of her. Angela could sense an overly exuberant hug on her horizon and she quickly realized that perhaps she should have asked which intern was on call before returning to work.

"Jack, can you help me to my office? I want to check on the Angelatron."

The silent message was received: he swiftly moved to support her as she feigned a great deal of pain. What Sweets saw in her, she couldn't understand, but then again, some were baffled by her marriage to Hodgins. Booth and Bren were in a class all their own though, when it came to attracted opposites.

"Thank you," she murmured as they moved away from the platform – and Daisy.

"I thought this was Wendell's week," he replied. "I would have warned you."

"I was wondering why you hated me so much," Angela joked weakly. _This is exhausting me already_, she thought.

"In her defense," Hodgins said, following her into her office, "Daisy stayed at the hospital for the entire night when you were taken in. She's in more need of an asylum than Fisher most days, but she does care."

Angela smiled slightly. "Yeah, I guess that's sweet. So, man of mine, anything new for me to play with here?"

"Nada. Unless you care to break your brain with the whole 'fooling an ankle monitor' thing."

"Blech. I'll leave that to Jimmy Neutron, escaped genius. What's on your to-do list?"

"I have a new friend to play with. _Bellamyola mouhoti_." He sighed happily and Angela stifled laughter. "You'll be alright?"

"Hodgins…"

"Okay, I know. Enjoy your lunch and call me if you need anything."

With a sweet kiss, Hodgins departed, leaving Angela free to do the first task on her private to-do list. Retrieving her tablet and firing up her systems, she ran a sorta-kinda-illegal search on an old acquaintance. She confirmed with a little effort what she suspected after tracing the floral deliveries to the hospital: the choice of florist was no accident. It was a matter of convenience for the messenger.

She punched the cell number registered to her presumed well-wisher into her phone and hit send, contemplating a need for pain medication after her hobbling adventure from underground parking. She seldom needed anything now, but this was the most exertion she'd attempted since waking up. _I'll tough this out_. _Maybe_.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Goodman," Angela said warmly. "It's been a very long time."

"Is this Ms. Montenegro?"

"Alive and kicking. Well, maybe not kicking yet."

He laughed heartily, his voice as warm and rich as she remembered. "I'm glad to hear it. I was very upset to learn about your condition. I may not keep in touch often, but I do pay attention to the Jeffersonian."

"How's retirement?"

"Heavenly," he exclaimed. "I do write a little still, but I am free to travel and spend time with the girls. I'm also free to monitor their boyfriends very, very closely."

Angela giggled. "You and Booth are two of a kind. I fear for Christine's future suitors. You know all about Christine, I'm sure."

A hesitation caught her attention. _I knew it_.

"I do. I talk to Dr. Brennan from time to time, although not recently."

"Of course not. Anyway, I was calling to thank you for your delivery." She chose her words carefully, waiting for him to take the bait.

"Delivery?"

"I have a gift for handwriting recognition, Dr. Goodman."

Goodman coughed nervously and Angela had all the evidence she needed. _Goodman and Max have been in touch_. Bren's father was a criminal. He'd selected a contact who was unlikely to be monitored, one who, like Angela, knew that she was innocent.

"Your eyes must be deceiving you. I'm curious now about this delivery. What did you receive? Was it a nice gift?"

"Bouquets of flowers," Angela replied. "Daisies and daffodils in one; hyacinth and azaleas in the other. A bit of an unusual combination, but it really brightened up the room."

"I wish I could lay claim to those, but I cannot. Although, were I to select flowers, I am partial to purple hyacinth in particular. It's a lovely flower."

_Loud and clear, Goodman_.

"We should have dinner sometime and catch up. I know you'd love to torment Hodgins," Angela added lightly.

"Absolutely. Please give my regards to the lab and do stay in touch."

Hanging up, Angela leaned back with a satisfied grin. She hadn't lost her touch at all. That strange half-cursive handwriting of his was too distinctive to miss. _I should store his number_, she thought and glanced down, pressing several keys to create a new contact. As the entry saved, Angela froze, staring at the phone, her hand hovering over her purse.

_"Oh God Hodgins, you are not checking up on me!"_

_She was in a kitchen. Cleaning supplies were carefully spread out along a countertop. _

Angela blinked hard, staring at the looming screen of the Angelatron. _What the hell_? The image lingered in mind, but she couldn't place it. She continued to clutch the phone, her head spinning.

_"He's coming there. He's armed."_

_She had to hide. She had to seek refuge. How was this happening? She stumbled over the cord of the vacuum, a phone clutched in hand_ –

Footsteps. Angela startled, glancing to her office door. No one was there. But she could hear the steps. Her heart began to race as she understood what they meant –

_"Wait upstairs and remain quiet. We can't afford to rush in. He's unpredictable_."

_That he was. Unpredictable and terrifying. Upstairs. I can go upstairs_.

The voice was unrecognizable, as if spoken underwater. Male? She thought it was male. But it wasn't happening. It was happening. Worlds collided and Angela pressed her eyes shut in spite of the terror.

_"Miss? Miss? Can you hear me?"_

_"You… not… The phone…" It was all she could manage before searing pain sliced through her skull, blinding her._

_"Paramedics en route," a voice said. "Holy shit, she looks bad…"_

"Angela?"

_A phone clutched to her chest. Jack. Michael. She was going to die_.

"Angela?"

She startled, eyes flying open to find Cam crouched in front of her. "Cam?"

"You didn't hear me, did you?" Cam asked gently.

"No. No, I…" Angela shook her head. "I don't know what happened."

"Judging from your pupils and overall tremor, as well as loss of awareness, I'm going to take a guess and say a flashback happened," Cam said. "Do you remember what you saw or heard?"

"It was bits and pieces… a kitchen… some man sitting beside me, asking me to speak…" Glancing down at her phone, Angela shuddered. "Cam, before the blast, someone phoned me. I thought it was Hodgins, but it wasn't…"

"Stay here, Angela." Cam rushed to the office door and leaned her head out. "Hodgins! Get over here!"

Angela continued to stare at the phone in her palm, straining to recall the voice. It wasn't familiar… She couldn't name the person. But she'd trusted them. She'd believed them.

"Angie?" Hodgins was there, his hand on hers. "Ange, what's wrong?"

"Flashback," Cam explained. "Something's coming back from that day."

Angela glanced up at her husband, suddenly filled with a deep sense of shame and regret. "I did it to myself."

"Did what? Talk to me," Hodgins urged.

She blinked slowly, the muffled voice in her ear. Her hand shook as she held her phone out to her husband, heart heavy.

"I trusted the caller. I listened." Dropping the device to the ground, she shook her head. "I walked right into that bedroom and never asked why."

"Who called you?" Cam asked. "Do you know?"

Angela shook her head. "I don't know. But it was someone I believed. Someone I trusted." As Jack embraced her tightly, she began to weep. "I don't think I want to remember, Jack. Please don't make me…"

"No one will make you, I promise," he whispered. "And if you remember anyway, I'm here, okay? Just like you were for me after the Gravedigger."

"Someone was coming. I hid. I hid and I needed you," she choked out.

"We should sedate her," Cam said quietly.

"Don't make me remember," she pleaded, burrowing into Jack's chest. "Don't make me!"

"Do it, Cam."

_"Blood pressure's 100 over 57!"_

_"Jack…"_

_Her leg wouldn't move. It was on fire and she couldn't escape it. Why were they burning her alive?_

A needle slipped into her arm and Angela whimpered. She was in his arms. _Safe. _Movement… The earth was moving and her eyes were heavy. She was sinking into a cloud, a marshmallow cloud.

"Sleep, babe… Just rest…"

"Jack?"

"I'm here."

So tired. So… done. The train was coming to a full and complete stop. His lips on her forehead. A murmur beyond the mist. _Sleep_.

And she did.

* * *

"Well Agent Booth," Cullen said, flipping through a series of pages in front of him, "It is the opinion of Dr. Duritz that you are fit for field duty."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir," Booth replied.

"For now, given the current situation with your partner and daughter, you will not be permitted to work with the Jeffersonian team. When Dr. Brennan's status has been determined, we will convene again to determine a final assignment. For now, you'll be working with missing and exploited children's cases alongside Agents Mirasole and Gregory. Your empathy and determination will be an asset to them."

Booth nodded. As much as it pained him to work cases with children, he was proud of the work the Bureau did in that area. It would be rewarding, which was more than he could say if he were assigned to organized crime.

"I do have to caution you Agent Booth," Cullen added. "You've had several instances of overtly aggressive behavior during an investigation. Your reputation can only excuse so much. We understand each other?"

"Yes, sir. I'm working on the stress reduction techniques Dr. Duritz provided."

They were total bullshit – hokey touchy-feely crap – but he played up their value for the good doctor, knowing it would expedite his clearance. Deep breathing, yadda yadda. Catching Pelant and clearing Bones would actually reduce his stress, but Cullen didn't need to know that.

"Very well. Dismissed."

Booth rose slowly, departing Cullen's office with a spring in his step. He was another step closer to getting his life back – and better still, he could retrieve his service weapon now. Considering the shots flying at his team, he needed the protection.

The vibration of his phone caught his attention and he pulled it from his suit jacket. _Bones Office_. "What the hell?" he muttered, answering the call.

"Seeley?"

"Don't call me Seeley, Camille. Why are you calling from Bones' office?"

"Because it's where we took Angela after sedating her," Cam explained sadly.

Booth froze in the middle of the corridor, earning a grumble from a passing mail clerk. "Whoa, is she alright?"

"She's asleep now. Nasty flashback. She remembered something about the explosion."

"Alright, just let me get into my office," Booth said, rushing down the hall. "I'm back in the field, by the way."

"I feel safer already." Cam was sincere, and it brought a smile to Booth's face.

"Okay…" He shut and locked the door, ignoring Charlie's puzzled look. "What did she remember?"

"Right before the bomb went off, someone phoned Angela on her cell phone."

"The one I gave her," Hodgins added in the background. "The secure one?"

"Did she say who called?"

"She couldn't identify the caller, couldn't even identify gender for certain," Cam said. "All she could remember was that it was someone she trusted. She was told to go to the bedroom."

"Someone tried to kill her deliberately," Booth concluded. "The mobile, it didn't matter…"

"We need to trace that call."

"I can't touch it. Shaw has to," Booth replied, frustrated.

"I know that, but we're a little busy. Can you relay?"

"Alright, Cam."

He heard her sigh over the line and a lump formed in his throat. "She may need to be kept sedated. She's shaken up."

"No one should remember being blown up," he said quietly.

"Booth—"

"I still have nightmares, Cam. I'll… I'll prepare Hodgins for it."

"Okay. Talk soon."

"Yeah."

Booth hung up, scarcely flipping the lock open on his door before the phone rang again. He answered quickly, retreating to his desk.

"Did you forget something, Cam?"

"Seeley Booth." It was a statement, not a question.

"Who is this?"

"I will not repeat my instructions, so listen very carefully. You will proceed to Union Station. One hour from now, you will stand in front of Cleopatra's in the East Hall, street level. You will await a second call there with further instructions."

On the heels of Angela's recovered memory, Booth felt his temper flare. "Why the hell should I do that, pal?"

"I was told if you resisted to remind you of the killing you prevented that was later enacted by Broadsky. The person you stopped has a message for you."

_Taffet. Max!_ Booth's heart skipped as he forced himself to speak. "I understand. One hour."

The caller disconnected and Booth immediately sprung into action. Waving to a now baffled Charlie, he paused briefly to duck into Shaw's office, grateful to find her there.

"Hey Shaw, Cam asked me to let you know that Angela remembers getting a call right before the explosion. She wants a trace on it."

The young agent startled, glancing up from her computer monitor. "That's big news! I'll get right on it, sir."

"Stop calling me 'sir', Shaw. Booth's fine."

"Old habits," she explained sheepishly. "I'll let Dr. Saroyan know what I find."

"Thanks, Shaw. Gotta jet – Pops needs me."

"Oh sure. See you later, Agent Booth."

A subtle alibi in place, Booth bolted for the stairs, unwilling to risk entrapment in the increasingly dodgy elevators. A message from Max meant a message from Bones. It was a lifeline he desperately needed right now. Fifty-eight days without her, without his daughter, were taking their toll. He could see the dark rings around his eyes, point to a few new grey hairs he'd vainly dye when he had a chance.

_One hour_, the caller had said. He'd hit the sirens and be there in thirty.

* * *

**5004009 Seconds**

_Woodstock, VA_

"Hello, Sophia!"

Sophia glanced up from the trunk of her car, waving to her neighbor. "Hello, Maureen! How's Harold?"

"His hip's doing better now, although he may still have to have the other one replaced." The older woman sighed, leaning against her porch rail. "I don't know how you live in the city, dear. The violence and the pollution..." She shuddered in disgust.

"It's where the work is," Sophia replied, hoisting her groceries out and shutting the trunk. "But I have my three weeks and my weekends with you, and when I retire, I get to enjoy this little piece of paradise full time."

"Clever gal!" Maureen exclaimed. "Enjoy the evening, dear."

"Same to you, Maureen."

Sophia grunted as she hefted the overfilled canvas bags into the bungalow. Her summer place was a refuge she'd snapped up several years prior during the housing collapse. Fortunate enough to have extra cash, she'd picked the tiny house up for a song. Her father's estate and her own savings were enough that she could retire and live modestly in a scant few years, but for now, she had her annual pilgrimage and several weekends throughout the spring and summer months.

Setting the bags down beside the fridge, Sophia reached inside for a beer and cracked it open. In the distance, she could see the mountains, a dusting of mist near the highest peak. This was what she needed now: perspective. Peace.

How had she gone so wrong? Her intentions were once good, but then… Then the anger overtook her, and all morals were cast aside. Her father would be ashamed.

She gulped her beer quickly, weary but hungry. A quick burger on the grill sounded fantastic to her growling stomach and she moved to her bags, unpacking perishable items and cans in haste. She was mulling the addition of bacon when an insect stung her neck. Her hand instinctively flew to the spot as she cursed and glanced around for the culprit.

As her hand closed around a syringe, she came face to face with her assailant and knew her fate.

"You…" she whispered.

Her legs collapsed beneath her as the paralytic took effect, leaving her helpless to resist the nylon rope pulled taut around her neck.

* * *

**4992923 Seconds**

The caller had said one hour. Booth had arrived in forty-five minutes, after a brief detour to pick up his service weapon. Just in case.

He felt like an idiot standing in front of the shops and not actually _shopping_, but he couldn't take any chances. Not when there was a message from his family on the line. If Max was taking this risk, there had to be an important reason for it. Hell, Bones hadn't even left a goodbye note for him.

_I hate Union Station_, he thought bitterly. _Too many damn people_.

He pulled out his cell phone, staring at the display. _Call_, he begged. _Come on_. A woman passed by with a stroller and his heart hurt. He averted his gaze quickly, thinking of Christine. Two months was a long time for a baby. He remembered how quickly Parker had grown. Had her hair grown longer? Was she colicky? Teething? Did she remember him at all?

The phone rang in his hand and he startled, immediately hitting answer and pressing it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Thank you for being prompt," the voice said. "Listen carefully. Proceed towards the central stairs and escalators. Descend to the lower level and locate the store called I Luv DC. Wait there for precisely three minutes, then proceed to the men's washroom. In the farthest stall, there will be an envelope taped to the back of the toilet. If you understand, complain about my tardiness."

Booth rolled with the call. "Finally! I've been standing here like an idiot for twenty minutes!" He began walking briskly towards the escalators, eyes scanning the crowd.

"You will not see me. We cannot meet. I will contact you again if there are further messages."

The caller hung up and Booth immediately faked a goodbye before pocketing the phone. Jogging down the stairs, he glanced around, orienting himself to the floor before checking the directory map. _Where is it…. There_! He moved swiftly to the chosen store, rolling his eyes at the tourist trinkets in the front display. _Three minutes_, he told himself. _Just three minutes_. He absently admired the clearance bin at the store's entrance, checking the time repeatedly. Again, a woman with a stroller passed him and this time, he sensed there was a reason for it. He bolted for the bathroom around the corner, relieved to find it empty as he marched towards the final stall. As directed, a large brown envelope was taped to the back of the bowl, unmarked and likely devoid of any significant trace evidence.

Did he open it now? After a moment of debate, he shook his head. _Too risky_. Not even the SUV was safe; although Hodgins had his team sweep it, the potential for new bugs to be planted was incredibly high. Where could he go?

_The Jeffersonian_. Angela had experienced a traumatic moment. He had experience with said trauma. He was merely a good friend checking on her and providing his expertise to her colleagues. _Besides, there's likely something here for the case_, he concluded. Bones wouldn't sit back and wait for them to solve this. Her sighting at the University was likely a research expedition.

Tucking the envelope inside his jacket, Booth flushed, washed his hands and made his way idly out of the transit hub. No one seemed to follow him, but he remained alert, cognizant of how Sweets' pick-up went down. _I should check on the kid,_ he thought as he turned over the ignition. Sweets had seemed strangely distant from everyone since then, Daisy included. It wasn't right. For now though, he had more pressing concerns.

He threw on the sirens as he made his way to the lab and he wasn't remotely sorry for the abuse of authority.

* * *

It was Hodgins who suggested opening the envelope in bone storage, noting that in spite of the events during the Gormogon case, the area still lacked visual surveillance. The two of them made their way down one of the expansive aisles of drawers where Hodgins stood guard as Booth ripped into the envelope.

A large stack of clipped notes turned out to be a series of journal articles and he handed these to Hodgins, figuring they'd be Squinty. The top one mentioned artificial intelligence in the title and he knew that Bones had sent them in hopes of providing insight into Pelant and Sawyer's code. While the code had been broken by Zack, they needed something to back up their success aside from "the murderous former intern solved it". More pages emerged in a second bundle, the top sheet indicating a journal of forensic science. Booth cocked his head, smiling at this one before thrusting it at Hodgins.

"Articles on the fallacies of ankle monitoring," he commented happily.

Hodgins examined the page. "This is unpublished. We never would have seen this without going to the researcher."

Booth's hand slid inside the envelope, seeking something else, something personal. He knew it was risky, but surely Max had allowed _something_… A small folded square of paper grazed his fingertips and he tilted the envelope, dumping it into his palm.

"What's that?"

Booth shook his head, passing Hodgins the now empty envelope. "I don't know."

He unfolded the square once, then twice, and froze at the hint of text visible. _Bone Dry_. It was a page from her latest novel, the one he'd barely begun to read between their cases and raising Christine. He continued unfolding it until he had a single creased page. An asterisk beside only one page number seemed to indicate that this was the side to pay attention to, but as he read the passage, he only grew confused.

"Isn't that from Dr. B's book?"

"Yeah, but I don't get why this page is here," Booth mumbled.

It was a conversation between Kathy and Andy, but far from a pleasant one. There was an argument over a woman from his past underway, or so it seemed. To his dismay, Andy seemed to be pushing Kathy away. _But I'm Andy, and I would never do that_! And then, Kathy protested:

"_You've never understood why I've kept you at a distance!" Kathy shouted. "Everything I've done has been to protect you."_

_"Protect me?"_

_"From me, Andy!" Kathy felt the earth spinning beneath her. "I believed you deserved more. But now, I don't feel so certain of it."_

_"Larissa's not a fling, Kathy," Andy said quietly. _

_"So I was?"_

_"You weren't a consolation prize, if that's what you're implying," Andy remarked bitterly. "But you closed the door on us. Why are you surprised I'm not just standing around on your porch, waiting to be let in?"_

_Kathy pressed her eyes shut, determined not to cry. "You need to go." At Andy's protests, she merely pointed towards her front door. _

_"If that's what you want."_

_As the door latched behind him, she realized it wasn't what she wanted at all. Her hand shot out, seizing the first object in reach. With a pained yowl, she threw a vase from the Moche tribe against the door, watching the pieces scatter as she fell to the floor and wept_.

"Booth?"

He glanced up from the page and found Hodgins staring, visibly concerned. "Why would she send this page?"

"Why not ask the expert on her writing?"

_Of course. _"Angela."

The artist was awake when they returned to the lab proper, reclined on the couch in Bones' office. Hodgins checked on her briefly before waving the papers at Booth, indicating he would look through them for information of value. Angela smiled at him as he perched on the arm of the couch, the page still clutched in his hand.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, G-Man," Angela teased. "But you look upset."

"You don't have to put on a front with me, Angela. I've been there, remember?"

She sighed deeply, biting her lip. "I thought of that in the hospital. It makes me admire you more. How do you… deal?"

"Practice," he answered. "And talking it through with people who get it. I'm always around to listen, and Hodgins has his own demons."

"For now, I just want to ignore them and be distracted. What's with all the paper my husband's waving around?"

"Package from a certain criminal and family." Angela's face lit up and he continued. "Most of it's research on AI and ankle monitors, but this… I don't get it."

He handed the page to Angela, who winced immediately as she recognized the text.

"Are we not okay, Angela? Is she trying to push me away?"

"No, sweetie. She's…" She paused, glancing up at him. "You haven't read this book yet, have you?"

"I've been busy with the real Kathy. It's the first time I haven't finished it in the first week," he admitted, feeling guilty.

She handed the page back to him. "Does anything ring a bell in this dialogue?"

Booth thought carefully, scanning the text until he found it: _"You're not a consolation prize_." A lump formed in his throat as he nodded, remembering the conversation clearly. It had been so hard to take her home that night and not stay. A part of him – no matter what love he had for Hannah – wanted to hold her, couldn't bear to watch her weep over him. No one had ever wept for him. Not like Bones.

"Bren's sent this because she's opening up to you, in her own way," Angela explained. "You guys kinda charged into things, even though you've been all but together for years. Have you ever talked about Maluku?"

"No, not at all, other than the lack of findings and Daisy swallowing her ring, which I have to admit was pretty hilarious."

Angela giggled. "Oh God, that's one of my favourite stories! Okay, I'm taking this page here as a sign Bren wants me to decode it for you, but normally, I don't spill friends' secrets. This book… She started it when she returned from Maluku. She finished it maybe a week after the Eames case. Bren and I arranged our usual ritual, booted Jack from the house and broke open the sparkling grape juice and wine. Let me tell you, by the way, that the sparkling crap is not a good enough substitute, especially…"

"Especially?"

"Especially when your best friend, the strongest person you know, breaks down in hysterics on your living room floor," Angela finished reluctantly. "Booth, we got to this conversation and she lost it. Bren doesn't lose it."

Booth felt his heart drop. He'd known that she was hurt after her confession and his… what? Loyalty to Hannah, even though his thoughts were constantly drifting to Bones? She seldom allowed herself to express vulnerability, and when she did, it was often a moment between the two of them. For her to fall apart in front of Angela, Booth knew that she'd lied about being able to "adjust", as she called it.

"I didn't want to hurt her," he whispered.

"She knew. Knows. This book, Booth… It's Hannah catharsis, start to finish. Bren came back from Maluku ready to tell you that she'd found the nerve to give it a try. She admitted as much after she drank a bottle of wine. But then you showed her Hannah's photo and she shut herself up. This isn't even the original version of this scene," Angela added, gesturing to the page. "Kathy just watched him leave, unable to speak. I asked her if 'Kathy' really did that and she said, 'No, she smashed an irreplaceable vase'. I told her that she should change it."

Booth suddenly recalled a conversation months ago, when they'd begun packing their respective apartments for the move into their house. Bones had rambled about her souvenirs of her many trips and excavation projects, recalling with precise detail the year, location and circumstance of each acquisition. He'd asked what treasure she'd brought back from the islands, only for her to grow incredibly silent before changing the subject. He'd never pressed her, assuming her disappointment in the dig was behind the sullen mood. He now knew better: she'd destroyed her prized item. Because of him.

"You took care of her, Ange?"

Angela smiled. "Of course I did. I broke open more wine and blasted angsty music for hours. Bren got drunk, blackout drunk, and decided to sing along. God, she can sing when she lets go," she remarked wistfully. "She really latched on to one of Roxie's Melissa Etheridge mixes that she somehow found lodged behind the stereo, so I gave it to her to take home. We bitched about love until she was too drunk to speak Squint and I tucked her in on the couch. She woke up hungover, compartmentalized it and never spoke of it again. That's Brennan's way." Angela hesitated briefly, shook her head. "Pass me the tablet."

Booth obliged, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He was beginning to understand now why she'd shared this page with him. She knew he hadn't finished the book and she wanted him to know how deeply she'd been affected that night. She was revealing a truth she'd tucked behind her stoic scientist routine, entrusting him with it.

"Now… one sec, I know it's here… Okay, Booth you have to promise me that you will never speak of this to Bren. Ever."

"Speak of what?"

Angela looked sheepish. "She was drunk, and she sounded so pretty, even though the material was so… depressing. Promise me, Booth."

The video player had launched on screen and Booth understood. "Promise."

"She never noticed," Angela murmured as she pressed play.

It was Bones, lounging on the couch he'd come to know well during his stay with Jack and Angela. Dressed in a pale blue sweater and jeans, she would be stunning if her eyes weren't swollen and rimmed in red. Music played loudly as she looked off camera, her words slurring.

"_Again!_"

"_Sweetie, you can't be serious. There's plenty of man-hate in my collection_," Angela said off-screen.

"_Play it again, Ange!_" Bones snickered to herself, reaching for her wine glass. "_I know what that means. Ha, Booth! Ha._"

The song shifted and Bones downed the wine glass with a hoot. She waved it around and Angela appeared, taking it from her. "_Refill?_"

She nodded enthusiastically, her hair a tangled mess. Her eyes closed and fingers tapping out a melody on her knees, she began to sing. He recalled the last time she'd sang like this, how astonished and proud he'd been as she proved them all wrong. She really did do a better job than Cyndi Lauper, just as her mother had told her. That song was joyous, but this one… It was the lament of a broken heart.

"_I'm alright, I'm alright  
It only hurts when I breathe…_"

It was how he'd felt that night at the Hoover, where she'd turned him down, refused to give them a chance. It was a pain he'd hoped she'd never know, but here was the evidence, looming on screen with a soundtrack supplied by the woman he loved.

"This one was her favourite," Angela noted. "But she really got into this old Elvis Costello tune as well. Actually knew it herself."

His hand lifted as if to touch her, falling foolishly to his lap. Her pain was palpable and the dam he'd constructed to hide his devastation began to crumble. One tear, then another fell, silently betraying him.

"_Home is a feeling I buried in you, that I buried in you!_" She belted the notes, nearly overwhelming the microphone of Angela's camera.

"I think she's afraid that when she comes home, she'll be right back here," Angela whispered, gesturing to the broken woman before them. "She wants you to understand how much she loves you. She's probably afraid it's not enough to make up for running away."

"Her last words to me… She wanted me to know she wasn't with me just because of Christine. I never thought that, Angela. Not once."

Angela's hand reached for his, squeezing it lightly. "I know. I think she knows, deep down, beneath the fear. Remind her anyway."

Booth swiped at his face, brushing aside the traitorous tears. _I'll remind her every single day. I just need her to come back home_.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Angela killed the video player, absently opening up photos of Michael. Hodgins peered around the corner with a grin.

"Can I break in with some news?"

"Is it good?" Booth asked.

"Mixed bag, bad news first," he replied. "Shaw called. Traced the call to Angela's cell back to a pay phone downtown. Nothing useful."

Angela sighed. "Of course."

Booth grimaced. "Good news, Hodgins?"

"There's a lot of information in this stack from the mystery delivery, even a few notes in margins and underlined sections, but this article…" At this, he handed it to Booth. "Well, check the author."

"Sophia Berman? The same one?"

Hodgins grinned. "Yeah. Her co-author is an authority on artificial intelligence. Even better: Pelant took a few classes in Arizona, one of which was taught by that professor."

Angela groaned. "Okay, this just keeps getting more twisted by the minute. The world's gone _Inception_ and I, for one, would like off this ride."

"_Ethical Considerations In The Electronic Sharing Of Health Records: Government and Private Vested Interests In Conflict With Amendment Freedoms,_" Booth read off the page. "Make sure Shaw sees this. When we track down Berman, she can interrogate her on it."

"Bren's Queen of the Lab even when she's not here," Angela said, grinning.

Booth smiled. "Yeah, she is. Now let's hurry up and put her work to use."

* * *

_**Whew! I don't know about you, but I really want to group snuggle Angela, Hodgins and Booth. They all seriously need it. Hell, after writing that Brennan rewind, I kinda need a hug, too!  
**_

_**I couldn't resist bringing back Dr. Goodman for a cameo. I've never been happy about the way he just... went on sabbatical forever or whatever. I always felt like he had a genuine fatherly affection for Brennan, and it seemed fitting that he would help in a small way, especially for Angela.  
**_

_**A little bit of FYI: I've mapped this monster out fully now and we're heading to a 27-chapter story (long final chapter). Even though TPTB have made clear that there's a 3 month gap (at least before the premiere episode starts), I'm staying with my original timeline... with a tweak. You'll see!  
**_


	19. Chapter 19

**_AN: Are we all okay? I know the last one was emotional. Welcome to day 73!  
_**

**_Berman's in trouble, Angela's suffering flashbacks, Booth's a little tired with playing by the rules and Brennan's managed to get some research home and make the near-capture in Arizona worthwhile. Shaw's our new liaison (woot!). Good riddance to Flynn! This one's a bit short, but very necessary.  
_**

**_Music: Chasing A Shadow - Charlotte Martin; Innocent - Fuel  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**6361294 Seconds**

"This is so not how I wanted this hunt to end," Cam remarked sadly.

"Yeah, definite downer," Hodgins agreed. "Clark?"

The young anthropologist crouched beside the remains propped up against a wall, studying the wound patterns and exposed bones on the hands and feet. "I can see bite marks that can be attributed to the cats that were found on scene, but there appear to be several precise cuts possibly inflicted by a scalpel. I'll need to process the bones in the lab to be certain."

"Puncture mark near the C3 vertebra, fractures to the C-spine consistent with strangulation," Cam remarked. "I hate to say it, but this looks a little too much like—"

"Sawyer," Hodgins concluded.

Sophia Berman's supervisor had been the first to report her missing after she never returned from her vacation. Local authorities had paid a visit to her home but found no sign that she'd returned. It was when her second home was examined that the Bureau had been alerted. Signs of a struggle were present, groceries left abandoned on the floor and counters, rotting. Her neighbor, Maureen Jones, had advised Agent Shaw that she hadn't seen Sophia in weeks, remarking that she assumed she'd returned home, given the absence of her car. The car remained unaccounted for although Cam's instincts told her the killer had transported the body with it.

Photos had been taken, blood samples obtained and particulates collected. It had been a hectic morning, and the Jeffersonian team was wrapping up their field investigation. Cam signaled for the body to be packed up for transport to the lab, making it clear that under no circumstances should the drivers change plans or not deliver the body. After the Krane disaster, she refused to take chances, especially when Pelant's scent was all over this murder.

"Dr. Saroyan?"

Cam crossed the living room to meet with Agent Shaw, who looked incredibly flustered. A relative rookie within the Bureau, she was likely overwhelmed with the dramatic shifts in duties over the last month. Cam extended her a friendly smile for reassurance.

"Yes, Agent Shaw?"

"I know that you used to work closely with police and have been in the field many times," she began quietly. "Cullen's having a fit over this and I'm running damage control by phone, but I'm certain there's more evidence to collect. I know that our team's on it, but would you be able to perhaps supervise their efforts? I'd hate to jeopardize this case by failing to collect something of importance."

"Certainly." Hesitating, Cam added, "Dr. Brennan couldn't have done this."

"No, I doubt she could, given reported sightings of her across the country," Shaw replied. "But for now, we'll follow the evidence, right?"

Cam nodded. It was such a relief to be rid of Flynn. Shaw worked strictly by the book, but in doing so, she kept an open mind. Caution was an asset; bias was not. Shaw slipped back outside where the media sharks had gathered, drawn by blood. Undoubtedly, the evening reports would again feature Dr. Brennan's face and words like "shocking" and "vicious killing".

"What was that about?" Hodgins asked quietly.

"Shaw wants me to ensure that all evidence of value is collected. I think we should take that as an invitation to look over Berman's belongings for anything of value."

"Like a copy of _Hacking For Dummies_?"

"Something like that," Cam grumbled. "Just take a look around and see if anything jumps out."

They split up, Cam immediately moving to an antique desk with several locked drawers in search of financial or legal documents that might prove telling. Hodgins, she noted, immediately headed for a shelf lined with books. _He is not seriously looking for a book on hacking_, Cam thought, rolling her eyes.

"Definitely an anti-establishment and science-fiction slant here," Hodgins mused aloud. "_Fahrenheit 451, Ender's Game, Slaughterhouse Five, The Handmaid's Tale_ and look! One of my personal favourites: _Brave New World_." Pulling the book from the shelf, Hodgins let out a low whistle. "First edition? On a shelf without protection? This woman's not that bright."

"She was bright enough, Dr. Hodgins. Just because she wasn't an expert on book collecting doesn't mean she's an idiot." Cam sighed. Sometimes, it was utterly exasperating working with geniuses.

"Hell-o! What's this?"

Cam spun around, abandoning her search for a desk key. Hodgins was opening the book now, pulling a series of folded pages from within its covers. She moved closer, craning her neck to study his find.

"A book dedicated to her from her father," Hodgins remarked pointedly, "with… Oh. My. God. Dr. Saroyan, look at this."

Intrigued, Clark joined them, his head peering over Hodgins' shoulder as Cam scanned the handwritten documents. They were a series of notes in neat handwriting, listing dates and times of meetings or conversations. A name that popped up frequently: Ezra Krane.

"She'd already admitted to speaking with him," Cam noted.

"Scan further," Clark said. "The last entry on this page."

Cam's eyes widened. Sophia's notes detailed a meeting with Ezra a week prior to his death, where he'd asked her about the ability to manipulate an ankle monitor, burying criminal cases electronically and other questions that suggested Krane was onto a story bigger than the FBI corruption scandal.

"He was onto Pelant," Cam said. "And Sophia knew it."

Shuffling to the next page, another name caught their attention: Ethan Sawyer. Specifically, Sophia had written down the names of several articles she listed as being written by Brennan's friend. Judging from the brief questions scribbled down in haste, Sophia's attempted visit hadn't been malicious. She'd been looking for a way to hide from someone.

"Bag this and bring it back to the lab with us," Cam ordered. "I'll let Shaw know. I don't trust this in the Hoover right now."

"Got it."

Cam felt her stomach turn. As relentlessly as they'd pursued Berman of late, determined to shine a light on her misdeeds, someone else had pursued her. In their fervor to find another suspect, they'd perhaps cost this woman her life.

_Fresh eyes, fresh start_. There would be justice for Sophia Berman. Cam would see to it.

* * *

**6367612 Seconds**

It was a surreal and somber mood at the Jeffersonian. Cam had gathered her staff – aside from Fisher, who was somewhere muttering to his mother over his doctoral project – to meet with Agent Shaw and Sweets, who'd been invited back onto the case. The autopsy and investigation were far from complete, but there was intense pressure for a preliminary report from Cullen. As Cam quickly learned, the situation was more dire than she'd anticipated.

"Based off time of death, I was able to clear Agent Booth conclusively. Given sighting reports and camera footage of Max Keenan in Alabama, we've essentially eliminated Dr. Brennan as a person of interest for this death," Shaw began.

"Of course Booth didn't do this," Angela muttered.

"Ms. Montenegro, please," Cam chastised. "Agent Shaw, the documents we found suggest that Ezra Krane suspected Christopher Pelant's involvement in the death of Inger Johannsen, and further, Sophia Berman was perhaps afraid for her life. She may have sought out Dr. Sawyer for advice."

"If Flynn had listened weeks ago, she might still be alive," Hodgins spat. "I feel he ought to explain himself."

"So does Deputy Director Cullen," Shaw replied. "There's one problem with that, which held me up from getting here: Agent Flynn is unaccounted for."

Hodgins rolled his eyes. "You mean he's fled? Well, if that doesn't scream 'inside job'—"

"Dr. Hodgins, it's possible Agent Flynn is also dead, or has fled to save himself," Sweets interjected. "Either way, it poses a huge problem. We need to find him."

"Pelant," Angela said quietly. "Will you finally believe it now? Everything comes back to him."

"Angela—"

"Don't try and silence me, Cam," Angela cautioned. "This man nearly destroyed my computer systems, murdered several people, hacked into government data with a program hidden in library books, and now, another person who spoke with him is dead. Agent Flynn's name was in the damn files and he's gone AWOL. How is this any less circumstantial than the case against Bren?"

Shaw ran her hand through her hair, visibly anxious. "I understand your frustration Angela, and I've spoken at length today with Dr. Sweets and Cullen. At this time, the ankle monitor poses a tremendous obstacle in determining means and opportunity for Dr. Sawyer's death. Fleeing a warrant is also an offense, and there's been talk of a potential child endangerment charge, although Cullen has been squashing that." Taking a deep breath, she added, "For now, we can't lift the warrant. We have issued BOLOs for Flynn and Pelant."

"Pelant? He's missing now?"

"Yes, Dr. Saroyan," Sweets answered. "He failed to arrive at work this morning. I'd also like to offer up a reason to maintain the warrant, regardless."

"Sweets, I _will_ hit you with a crutch. Don't tempt me," Angela snarled.

"Look, if Pelant is the mastermind of this mess – and my profile strongly suggests he is – then he needs to believe he's winning. Give him any indication that you've seen through his plans and he will dive further underground. By maintaining the warrant, he believes that he is untouchable. A God. He may grow cockier and make a mistake," Sweets concluded.

"Unless Flynn realized Pelant would dispose of him and beat him to the punch," Hodgins countered.

"In which case, we need Agent Flynn to believe that we're still after Brennan."

"Do you truly believe, from the evidence, that Agent Flynn is involved in these deaths?" Shaw asked. "I'm not questioning the science. You're all great at what you do. But I've known Hayes for a few years and while he can be abrupt and cool, he's a family man. He regularly volunteers his time with a soup kitchen. It's hard for me to picture it."

"Kind of like it's hard for us to understand how you'd believe Brennan could kill anyone, given the way she breaks down crying for murder victims?" Angela snapped. "Jack, I'm tired and sore. I'm going to head out." Without waiting for a response, she hop-glided her way to the exit of the lab, her husband bringing up the rear.

"She's had a difficult few months," Cam said softly.

"I understand, Dr. Saroyan. I wish I could offer more answers about the incident, but nothing has turned up to pinpoint the person responsible for the bomb." Shaw looked to Sweets. "Thank you for supporting this course of action. Until we find Agent Flynn or Pelant, we're at a standstill. I agree that lifting the warrant might provoke further action against the Bureau or Jeffersonian."

"This lab is like a family, Agent Shaw. You've worked with us before. Right now, we're missing two members of that family, and a third's at half strength. This lab is hurting." Cam glanced over at the remains with a sad look. "We need answers, and we're tired of being blocked at every turn."

"I'm doing my best."

"We need more than that," Cam insisted. "So please, summon up more of everything, be gutsy and start opening doors."

Stunned, the agent departed without a word or backward glance. Lance Sweets watched her departure with interest, turning back to Cam and Clark with a half-smile.

"That went pretty well, all things considered."

"Not another word Dr. Sweets. Not another goddamn word."

Knowing a cue to leave when he heard one, Sweets nodded and left the Jeffersonian, walking the twelve blocks he'd come to know well over the last two months. Scanning the perimeter of the low rise, he entered swiftly and proceeded to unit 3B. He knocked briskly, a series of distinct taps: the main melody of "Coconut" (still his jam, even after learning of Vincent's shared appreciation of it).

"Again?" the intimidating figure questioned, throwing open the door.

"Murder. They need to know about it."

"Hurry up."

The stocky middle-aged man stood aside, ushering Sweets into the living room before slamming and locking the door. With a bored expression, he sunk into his worn sofa, flipping the channel to a re-run of _CSI_.

"You know where the supplies are," he called out.

Sweets did know, very well. This was his second package for "personal courier delivery", as Max had referred to it. Settling down at the dining room table, he began making detailed notes on the Berman case and the status of the warrant. He also made sure to note Pelant and Flynn disappearing, knowing that Max would want to stay alert.

The initial approach of Dr. Brennan's father had startled him. At the time, he hadn't appreciated the full ramifications of the man's words. He'd merely expressed that he would be leaving town and wanted to stay on top of the case. He'd also handed him an envelope, advising him to hold it for safe keeping.

"Consider it a matter of national security, kid," Max had said. "Some things need to be kept from people for their own good."

When Dr. Brennan had fled, Lance had understood: Max believed that Sweets could keep a secret, particularly from Booth. Sweets had kept his silence, unwilling to risk his job or Agent Booth's and feeling a little disillusioned after Flynn had him removed from the Sawyer case. He'd thought of the night when Brennan had entered his office and bared a terrible secret of her childhood – "sharing scars", she'd called it. In her way, he understood it to be a gesture of acceptance and trust, and that bond ultimately overshadowed what was supposedly fair and lawful. He'd obeyed the directions in the larger envelope (the "courier routine"), while stowing the tiny envelope within in a safe place.

With a few extra details and cautionary notes, he sealed the pages inside a white envelope, sealing that within a manila envelope. "Ready."

The man glanced up with a sigh. "Last one for a while. It's risky."

"Understood, Tom."

As Tommy walked him to the door, he asked, "Does he know?"

Lance shook his head. "Not a clue."

"Keep it that way."

And with that, he slammed the door behind Sweets, leaving him in a filthy hallway with a long walk back to his car and a secret smile.

* * *

**_Hell yeah! Sweets, you are the man.  
_**

**_Berman is no longer with us (rest in peace, misguided soul), but her notes have at least cleared up that strange visit to Ethan. Flynn and Pelant have flown the coop. Don't think Booth will be happy about that!  
_**

**_We'll be back with Max and Brennan next chapter, checking in on their life on the run... which is about to take an unexpected turn...  
_**


	20. Chapter 20

**_AN: We're back with out fugitive family now... Let's see what they're up to, shall we?  
_**

**_Music: What The Water Gave Me - Florence + The Machine; The Lonely - Christina Perri  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**7005560 Seconds**

_Abilene, TX_

"Well, this is definitely not what I expected," Temperance said quietly.

"What is it sweetheart?"

She carefully laid out the notes inside the envelope, smoothing the creases. "Sophia Berman is dead. Paralyzed with curare, strangled and cut open, then left in her home with several cats and a few rats, or so the preliminary findings stated."

Max shuddered. "I hate this bastard."

"He's gone missing, Dad," she announced, feeling ill. "He and Agent Flynn are unaccounted for."

"Damn it! I'd hate to move houses again, but if they're moving, I have to wonder if they're on our trail."

Temperance watched her father begin to pace, unsettled by his immediate anxiety. Her father was the expert in this hellish situation, her barometer for how dire things had become. If he was anxious, she had reason to be terrified.

"Maybe we should," she finally said. "Tomorrow morning. I'd like to let Christine sleep as long as possible."

Between the hours spent poring over their acquire research and creating timelines and hypotheses, she'd repeatedly had to console her daughter today. She seemed incredibly unhappy, although she could find no apparent cause. Her father had suggested colic, but Brennan suspected something else at the root of her sudden change in mood.

"Okay, that's what we'll do. We'll leave after the morning rush. Make sure your things are packed up." Leaning over the slew of papers on the table, he shook his head. "Nothing seems to get any simpler. I thought that Berman woman was in on it."

"She may have been manipulated by Pelant into doing something that she didn't recognize as part of a larger plot." Brennan tapped the photo of Berman from Hinsdale. "They're saying now that she may have gone to Ethan for help in understanding Pelant. Apparently she'd attended one of his guest lectures before he was committed."

"And that slimy guy, Flynn?"

"Either an accomplice or another victim as yet not found," she said. "He was in the CI files. At least he's off the case. Agent Shaw seems fixated on Booth but competent. I'm certain Angela will ensure she remains professional."

Max stifled a chuckle. Tempe's jealousy was never as masked as she believed it to be.

"It says here that they won't lift the warrant until the ankle monitor issue is resolved, but they want to leave it regardless to mislead Pelant." A flash of anger marred her features. "Dad, can they do that?"

"They can do whatever the hell they want, Tempe. It's not a horrible idea from their standpoint." His hand came to rest on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Pack this all up. You need your rest for tomorrow."

"But Dad—"

"No arguments. I know you haven't been sleeping and I'll need you to drive part of the way."

Brennan reluctantly packed up the documents and papers, slipping them into their respective envelopes. Another long drive. The thought itself was exhausting. Was this what her parents had done all those years ago? When she returned home, she'd never ask Booth to drive again.

A whimper from Christine caught her attention and she hurried down the hall, papers in hand. She'd barely slept an hour this time. By the time she'd tossed her research onto the bed, the whimper had evolved into a howl. Scooping her daughter into her arms, she instinctively knew something was very wrong. Christine was an easy-going child. They'd remained in this home for a few weeks now. There was no environmental stimulus that could explain her discomfort.

"Shh…" She paced slowly, rocking her daughter gently. "What's wrong? Help me. Use nonverbal cues."

She leaned forward to kiss her forehead and gasped. Christine was extremely hot to the touch. Panic set in as she called for her father, pressing the back of her hand to the infant's forehead. _High fever. Far beyond a teething-related spike in basal temperature_.

"Tempe, what is it?"

"She's sick. She's so hot…" The baby struggled in her arms, tiny hands flailing at her ears.

Max reached out, wincing as his fingers grazed the child's face. "Yeah, she is. Probably a flu or an ear infection."

"Well, then we have to seek medical care immediately," Brennan said. "Where's the nearest emergency room?"

"Honey, we can't go to a hospital! You think they don't have our pictures passing around between states?"

"She's sick! I don't give a damn about that right now, Dad!" Christine wailed and she flinched, cradling her closer. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"We could locate a pharmacy and get some Tylenol, try that first," Max said. "Babies get sick. It happens."

"And when it happens, you seek medical advice," Brennan countered. "She's not done with her childhood vaccination schedule. She could have something serious. Given the traveling and the lacking cleanliness of our temporary lodgings, she may have contracted something."

"Waiting until morning won't—"

"I won't risk anything happening to her! Booth would die!" she screamed.

Throwing his hands up, her father shook his head. "Fine! But I'll take her in, Tempe. You'll stay here."

"No, I'm her mother. Parents don't abandon their children when they need them," she insisted.

It was a low blow. She only recognized it as such when her father's face flushed crimson. She sensed that she should apologize, but Christine was still fussing and her maternal instincts were fully engaged.

"Fine," he said at last. "But we pack now. There's a good chance we'll have to leave in a hurry and we can't chance returning here."

"Fine."

She gently placed Christine in the crib, whispering apologies before rushing to pack her scant belongings. If this was about protecting her daughter and Booth, she had to attend to her needs. Her own life didn't matter now. Let them arrest her. Let Pelant come for her. If avoiding him meant harm to Christine, it meant harm to all of them.

Practiced now at departure, they were packed in twenty minutes save the crib, which they'd unfortunately have to abandon. With a fixed scowl, her father slid behind the wheel and drove to a nearby gas station, where he obtained directions for the Abilene Regional Medical Centre. With a cool cloth pressed to her forehead, Brennan focused on soothing the child. The tenuous relationship she and Max had forged was being tested at every turn, perhaps fractured now. She could only hope that he would remain true to his word and protect them in spite of the fault lines.

* * *

**7028912 Seconds**

"Watch the road!" Temperance shouted.

"I _am_ watching the damn road!" Max snapped.

He changed lanes again, accelerating well beyond the speed limit as he surged towards an interchange. Temperance gritted her teeth, her hand pressed to her wailing daughter's chest. She didn't trust the car seat to securely support her, not with the reckless way her father was driving. Of course, she couldn't be completely angry with him. The sirens behind them were the impetus for his flagrant disregard of the law.

"Shh," she murmured to Christine. "Hang on. We'll slow down soon."

"Not if Barney Fife back there has his goddamn way," Max muttered.

"I don't know what that means."

"If we don't end up in jail, I'll explain it to you." Taking a series of abrupt turns, Max reversed their course, maneuvering the sedan back onto the interstate. "You see? You see why I didn't want you to come to the damn hospital?"

She did see. This was all her fault, without question.

They were okay for hours: the ER had bought their flimsy stories of traveling across the country to visit family members in Boca Raton, accepting their false identification once Christine pitched a screaming fit. The triage nurse, having three small children of her own, immediately cooed reassurances to the infant as she took her temperature and assessed vital signs and symptoms. Temperance had felt her heart stop as the digital thermometer beeped, announcing a fever of 104.6. She'd never experienced a fever that high in her own experiences. Christine was in agony.

The attending physician had moved quickly, determining that Christine had a violent ear infection that she'd likely not revealed for days, simply due to her overall good nature. Keeping on her glasses and the brown contacts, she'd also swept her dark blonde hair over her face – "sleep head", she believed the term was. Focused on the child, he'd not paid her much mind. She'd run to the pharmacy in the building and filled the prescription for clarithromycin suspension, also procuring infant acetaminophen and beverages for their road trip. They were incredibly close to success, so close that Temperance nearly felt the need to point it out to her father. After Christine finished her course of intravenous medication, they would be departing.

But then the shift change occurred, and everything went to hell, all because one of the morning nurses had come in with a copy of _Bone Dry_. A departing nurse saw the author photo on the back cover and immediately recognize Andy Buxley's true identity. Had Temperance not overheard the heated discussion from around the corner… Well, she wouldn't think of that.

She'd alerted her father, disconnecting Christine's IV line and scooping her up into her arms. Following her father's lead, they'd bolted down the stairs to ground level, slipping out a side entrance and rushing for their car. By the time he'd turned the key, the security officers were rushing out of the Emergency entrance, scanning wildly for the fugitive author and her family. Local police had unfortunately been present, having brought in a man for a substance-related illness.

This chase had been ongoing for ten minutes, and while her father had put some distance between them, the sirens still called, threatening them with capture. Her father dodged across two lanes, taking another exit onto a rural road that carried them north – at least, she thought it was north. She was so disoriented and exhausted she could barely remember the directions for Christine's medication.

Tires squealed as Max spun the car onto a side road, the sirens beginning to recede. Her stomach ached from the way her seatbelt cut into her, but complaining was pointless. It would only spark an argument and she was in no mood for hearing of her failings. She spent enough of her days mulling them over.

"There," her father muttered. "Knew I'd find the 180 another way."

She sat silently, waiting for it. Waiting for the lecture.

"Goddamn it, Tempe! I'm tired of this! I'm tired of you not listening to me." And here it was. "I told you from the very start that this is my area of expertise, that you had to trust me. First, you wanted to do your own research instead of waiting for the materials I'd arranged to be delivered to us. Then, you insisted on sending stuff back, sending messages to Angela and Booth. And now this. What did I tell you?"

"Dad, I'm really not in the mood—"

"And you think I am? I've been up for twenty-four hours and counting!" Max was incredibly irate, his voice thundering through the car.

"You need to slow down and stop shouting," she said firmly. "Christine is frightened."

"She should be! She almost lost her mother. Do you understand what that hacker bastard could do to you in a state like Texas? I do. Of all the places—"

"We would have been fine if that woman had not brought my book to work. You were not right about all of the hospitals displaying my image on their walls." Contradicting him was likely a poor move, but the notion of Max being absolutely right was insufferable to her. No one person ever acted with 100% accuracy or competency. "You were also wrong about waiting until morning. You heard the doctor! So yes, I have screwed up along the way, but it's not like it was for you. You didn't have a child with you."

"And of course, you're never going to let that drop, are you?" Max struck at the steering wheel, startling Temperance. "Nothing I ever do will _ever_ make up for that choice, will it? Do you hold Booth's every mistake over his head? It's a wonder he's put up with it for this many years."

"Don't you _dare_ bring Booth into this!" she screamed, oblivious to her distraught daughter. "You have only the slightest comprehension of the integrity and love he possesses. I know him like I know myself, understand his mannerisms, his deepest fears. I trust very little that I cannot run through a scientific examination or process, but I do trust that he loves me _as I am_. He doesn't seek to change me. Maybe if you had half of that particular skill, you'd comprehend how awful I feel, how difficult this is."

"Tempe—"

"No, shut the hell up, _Max_!" she continued, fury overwhelming her. "I want my life back! It took me years to find the courage to trust in such a life, to believe I deserved it. I want my life! I want my job, my friends, my 'Mighty Hut'…" At this, she burst into tears, her body wracked in sobs. "I want Booth. He understands me… He… Booth… "

Her father remained silent as she collapsed across her daughter's lap, weeping uncontrollably. Tiny fingers fisted in her hair and she understood that this was Booth within their daughter, that same sense of selfless love even when suffering. It only crushed her heart further.

_This was a mistake_, she realized. _I should have trusted Booth_. _Logic isn't always the answer_. She remembered Booth's words once, back when they'd debated their living arrangements: "_Look Bones, I love you, okay? That's not rational. Us having a kid, that's not rational. But... here we are_." Love was built upon its own unique logic, and she should have chosen her course of action with its rules in play, its structure. Uncertainty was terrifying, and it was her entire life now.

The only thing she knew for certain was that by the time this hellish experience was over, her relationships with Booth and her father would never be the same.

* * *

**7201712 Seconds**

Her hair was blonde, or close to it.

It was the detail that caught his eye first as he hit play on the video file, although countless others soon flooded his mind. She'd cut her hair, the tips scarcely grazing her shoulders. The glasses, the dark eyes that were surely the work of coloured contacts. And she was thin, painfully so. His heart broke at the jutting collarbones caught from one angle, understanding from Max's appearance that he was _trying_ to take care of her, but she was resistant. His Bones. His beautiful, stubborn Bones. _Eat sweetheart, please. For Christine. For me._

His daughter was there too, captured on the surveillance footage from Abilene. As her father, he'd been able to demand the ER records. Middle ear infection with a high fever, the doctor had noted. Antibiotics were prescribed, which had been dutifully filled before detection.

She'd risked that detection to care for their daughter. Risked her freedom, perhaps her life. Booth could hear Max now, likely furious with the defiance of it. He'd never doubted her as a mother and moments like this were the reason why.

He froze the video on the best frame he could find of his family and printed it out. It was grainy, somewhat blurry and washed out in fluorescent lighting, but it was something he could look at. It was better than nothing at all. A knock on his office door jarred him from his thoughts and he glanced up to see Agent Shaw peering around the door.

"Hello, Agent Booth. Charlie told me you received the footage from Abilene?"

He nodded, well aware that it was highly inappropriate to intercept evidence for a case he was banned from. _But it's my family_, he thought sadly. _I should have been the first to see this anyway_. Shaw entered the room, moving to examine his computer monitor. He hit play again, more for his benefit than hers, although he'd already backed the file up to a USB key.

"Definitely her," Shaw concluded.

Booth nodded. "All three of them were there."

He resisted the urge to reach out and touch the image on screen. He missed her touch, craved the feel of her pale skin beneath his fingertips. And Christine… How had she gotten so big? He'd missed so much and it stung. It was Parker all over again, only he'd believed that this time, things would be different.

"They signed in as Andrea and Joe Buxley," Shaw noted, flipping through her papers. "I imagine that they will change names after this."

"Max likely has a back-up set of identification on hand," Booth replied. "The man remained hidden for years, Shaw. It's what he does best."

Booth had immediately recognized the significance of her alias. It had brought a faint smile to his face.

"I'm surprised a little that you're not more…"

"More what, Shaw?"

"Hurt," she concluded. "Upset. Angry. I know that you two are together, but Dr. Brennan left without telling you, taking your daughter with her. As a mom, I just… I'd be devastated. Furious."

Booth sighed. "Bones is an innocent woman being pursued by a psychopath and the law. The safety of my partner and my daughter is all I care about right now. That and bringing them home."

Shaw remained quiet, studying the images alongside him for a few minutes. As she moved to speak, he cut her off with a raised hand. He already knew: it was time to give her the evidence. He ejected the CD from his computer, slipping it back into its case and holding it out to her. With a slight nod, she took the disc and departed, still seemingly baffled by his devotion. Booth understood: her child's father was no longer in her life. Were he to take him, it would be kidnapping. He would be furious, too. But this was a desperate choice for survival and safety. It wasn't an act of cruelty, although it bore an element of cruel punishment that was unavoidable.

Booth retrieved the printed photo from behind him, studying it carefully. _Too thin. Too blonde. _Still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He folded it carefully, slipping it inside his wallet for safekeeping. His patience was wearing thin, though. He desperately wanted to remain in the system, to fight this fight, but seeing her condition, his urge to protect her roared loudly within him.

Either the system brought her home soon, or he would find them himself, job be damned.

* * *

**_Poor Brennan. She's hurting so much. Booth's running out of patience and I don't blame him. I think the fact he's waited months for this nightmare to be over is admirable.  
_**

**_Next time: the Squints and Sweets band together and discover something devastating...  
_**


	21. Chapter 21

**_AN: Back to the Squints we go, where they're about to crack open a disturbing nut... Stay tuned to the end notes!  
_**

**_Music: The Revolution Is Never Coming - The Red Paintings; Sabotage - Beastie Boys  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**7308000 Seconds**

_Columbia Forest, MD_

"This house went for peanuts!"

Marty Walker nodded in agreement as he gathered his equipment from the van. "Yeah, well that's what happens when you die without any heirs. The place is a mess, though."

His business partner, Ray Goode, shifted the weight of his tool bag. "Is it?"

"Yeah, the guy was a hoarder. With cats."

"Ugh! Goddamn, I hate hoarder cases. The smell…"

Marty sighed. "The new owners have money, so we can always outsource the clean-up. C'mon, let's get this assessment over with."

Marty enjoyed his work on most days. The construction and restoration business was always booming, particularly as the older homes in Maryland creaked and demanded new pipes, flooring or shingles. His favourite projects were the total overhauls – usually rich yuppies who wanted an old home converted to some ridiculous image of perfection from a magazine. Marty could make that magic happen, but it came with a price. A very nice, mortgage-paid-off price. This home, tucked at the end of a cul-de-sac, was one of those creative, well-paying assignments.

The smell hit them the moment they approached the front doors, Ray recoiling instinctively. "Outsource the clean, Marty. This is worse than usual."

"No arguments here, buddy. Come on: we just need to take a quick walk-through today."

He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, struggling not to breathe through his nose. There were dead cats here, perhaps dozens. He knew the smell from the house last fall, the one repossessed by a bank after the owner passed on. Twenty-seven dead animals and human waste collected in jars. Marty shuddered. _How do people get that messed in the head_? Examining the living room, he scribbled a few notes on the condition and moved on towards the kitchen. Ray gestured upstairs and he nodded in understanding. Best to spread out and get this over with.

Food debris littered the floors, the linoleum completely ruined. _That's all going_, he noted on his page. They'd have to examine the surface beneath and possibly treat it as well. It was likely a good thing that this couple had a large inheritance at their disposal: they were going to need it. Perhaps the only thing in a decent state was the backyard, which remained strangely untouched, except for a pile of wood and metal debris.

"Bathroom's a nightmare," Ray announced, joining him in the kitchen. "Everything's gotta go. _Everything_."

"Sink here looks alright, but I'm betting the pipes will be another story," Marty replied.

"Aw hell, there's more dead animals out there!" Ray groaned.

"More? What?"

"Ten dead cats I could see upstairs. But look," Ray said, pointing at the debris heap. "Goddamn coyote just ran out of there into the woods."

Marty grimaced. _So much for the backyard being okay_. Probably a whole heap of dead cats nested under the junk pile. With a wave, he stepped out the back door, Ray close behind him.

"How did the neighbours not notice this shit?" Ray grumbled.

"People don't care. You and I know that. The huge plots of land between houses allow them to claim ignorance." Marty noticed a large stick on the ground and picked it up carefully. "I'll just take a quick look and we'll get out of here. Send a crew to handle the rest."

The stick proved unnecessary. As the two of them rounded the heap, Marty gagged.

"Those aren't cats," Ray mumbled.

"No… Definitely not."

From the nearby trees, a hungry coyote glared, furious that he'd been deterred from his snack.

* * *

**7315299 Seconds**

The look on Agent Shaw's face told Cam everything she needed to know: this was very, very bad.

Leading her team around back, she took in the four Sequoias, several local PD units, coroner vans and the personal Mercedes of A.D. Hacker. She'd wanted to believe she'd heard incorrectly when she'd gotten the call, but it had been foolish to do so. Hell, even Ethan Sawyer had predicted this bloody end.

"Agent Shaw," she said quietly.

The Agent's face was ashen, her body trembling as she took down notes. "Dr. Saroyan… They're over there." She gestured behind a large heap of metal and organic debris. "Contractors found the bodies just over two hours ago. First assessment of the work to be done."

"When was someone last here?"

"At least four weeks ago," Shaw replied. "That's according to Lindsay Amos, one of the owners. They bought the home via estate liquidation."

"And we're sure that it's them?"

"There's been decomposition and scavenger activity… But… But one of them is definitely Agent Flynn." Her voice cracked and she shook her head. "I'm sorry, excuse me."

Hodgins and Clark waited quietly, exchanging looks of frustration. This case grew worse at every turn. For each step forward, they were driven three backwards. Cam glanced back at them and they nodded, following her around the heap cautiously, mindful of their path.

"I see what Agent Shaw means," Cam said quietly.

The two bodies lay approximately seven feet apart, clothes spattered in a mix of blood and dirt. The body closest to them was undeniably Hayes Flynn: his face was still… intact enough to determine identity. Beside his right hand lay his service weapon, released as he fell into a crumpled heap. Studying the body, Cam suspected that Flynn had kneeled before firing the single shot into his temple. Angela would have to run a simulation to confirm it.

The other body was in a bad state. Facial features were difficult to make out. Three shots had been fired to the chest, one directly through the victim's heart. His stature and frame suggested an identity that none of them could avoid jumping to.

"Flynn shot Pelant, then himself?" Hodgins asked in disbelief.

"Conjecture, Dr. Hodgins. But yes, it certainly appears that might be the case." Cam kneeled beside Agent Flynn's body, studying the insect activity and state of decomposition. "We'll need an estimated time since death. I want to say seven to ten days."

Hodgins began collecting maggots, nodding. "I'll have to confirm at the lab, but these guys agree with you."

"Something's off," Clark announced, stepping back a foot.

"How so, Dr. Edison?"

The young anthropologist frowned. "The placement of the bodies and the way they've fallen… I can't quite articulate it, but there's something wrong. They're out of place."

Cam stood up and joined him, examining the scene from his perspective. "You're right. The impressions and position of Flynn's body suggest that he was kneeling as he fired, but the way he's fallen…"

"He also seems to have taken several steps to the side after firing on the unidentified male," Clark added. "I suppose scavenger activity could have shifted the position of the bodies. That body took the brunt of it for some reason."

"Scavenger activity's out," Hodgins said. "The way the insects have made themselves at home with respect to the blood in the soil… These bodies have been relatively untouched, aside from the mystery guy's face."

"Wouldn't the torso have more appeal initially?" Cam asked. "Why the face?"

"This stinks, and I'm not talking about the aroma of cat urine from the house," Clark stated.

"I concur." Gesturing to local police, Cam called out. "I need everyone to stay as clear of the remains as possible. Hodgins, get as many photos as you can for Angela to assemble. The rain two nights ago likely disturbed a lot of our trace evidence, but let's do what we can."

"Someone's cleaning house," Hodgins muttered.

Cam sighed. "I think so."

She watched as her team began to work their magic, waving Agent Shaw over to give her the grim news. It seemed that every suspect who wasn't Dr. Brennan was meeting a violent and abrupt end. The system and its hoops were keeping them from even extracting information from these people. These days, Booth was edgy, tired of constant badgering from his superiors and the powerlessness of the situation. Cam knew him well enough to know that if she didn't give him answers soon, he'd go rogue and potentially ruin all that they'd worked for in the last few months. _Are we ever going to get a break_? she thought angrily.

A crack of thunder overhead was her reply.

* * *

**8020808 Seconds**

"There has to be something more, people!"

"Cam, there's nothing," Angela replied, hobbling back to her desk. "Hodgins came up with absolutely nothing to indicate anything _besides_ a murder-suicide. Clark and Daisy found no needle punctures or other marks to the remains. The tox screen came up blank, right? Besides the simulation, we've got nothing."

Hodgins nodded sadly. "Other than an innocent Pelant look-alike biting the bullet, this was perfectly constructed."

"Almost perfectly," Angela reminded them. "Although I'm guessing whoever did this intended for scavengers to disrupt the remains to the point of masking any inconsistencies."

"Run it again, Angela?" Sweets asked.

"Sure." She tapped a few commands on her tablet, half-sitting on her desk as the reconstruction played out. "Pseudo-Pelant is shot here," she said, freezing the image. "He was facing his attacker, which suggests either he knew the person—"

"Or trusted them," Cam said.

"_Or feared them_," Sweets chimed in. "A cop draws a gun. We freeze, hands up in the air."

"Exactly," Angela agreed, allowing the simulation to move forward. "One shot, two, then he starts to fall, taking the third in the clavicle. But look: he should have fallen like this, but we found him 75 degrees rotated."

"And Flynn?"

Angela sighed. "His position's off even if he had taken his own life. If he fired the shots, he would have had to have taken several steps to the right and backwards. That aside, look at this." Angela zoomed in closer on the fatal shot to the temple. "Given the trajectory of the bullet, he would have been holding the gun with his arm kinda tucked against him."

"Very atypical," Cam noted.

"Now, what if…."

The group watched as Angela inserted a third figure into the simulation. Agent Flynn fell to his knees, only this time, the third figure fired the kill shot.

"Son of a bitch!" Hodgins exclaimed. "That's a far better fit for the angle."

"Someone cleaned house, alright," Sweets said.

"Wild conjecture time," Angela said. "Pelant and Flynn are working together. I don't care if he's blackmailed Flynn or they're both bastards. They agree to meet. Maybe Pelant says he wants to leave town and needs to buy time. They meet with Pelant's twin here and take him down. But then Pelant surprises Flynn and also removes him from the picture."

"We need more than conjecture," Cam said.

"Well, we have the fact he's violated his parole conditions, disappeared for ten days, and in that time, another person associated with the CI Files is dead, along with a ringer for Pelant," Sweets said. "It's enough to get a warrant on Pelant's house at the very least."

"I agree. I'll ask Shaw to get one," Cam replied. "That still leaves us with an unidentified male victim and no concrete suspect."

"I'm looking through the CI files again and running records for Sophia Berman, her father and Daniel Casuto." Sweets flipped open a file folder. "There were some unusual financial transactions made immediately after Mr. Berman's passing."

"How so?" Angela asked.

"Bounced checks, attempted wire transfers."

Angela hobbled over to her computer. "I should be able to pull everything up here, Sweets. We can keep working on it."

"I'll go recheck the particulates, see if I missed anything," Hodgins said.

"And I will go have a _wonderful_ conversation with Cullen about his dead agent and how little I know about who did it." Cam rubbed her temples. "But first, I need more coffee."

"Caffeine creates headaches," Sweets said.

"And this headache is withdrawal, so I'm going to go get another fix. Addiction is a fun cycle, Dr. Sweets. Call me if anyone finds anything of use. Anything."

Cam felt her cell phone vibrate in her lab coat pocket and groaned, checking the call display. _Shaw. Damn it_. She'd have to deal with her sooner or later. _Besides_, Cam reasoned as she headed for the lounge, _she's a lot nicer than Cullen_.

"Dr. Saroyan."

"_Hello, Dr. Saroyan. I know you're very busy, but Cullen's kind of on my case about Flynn. Do we have anything good to tell him?_"

Cam felt awful for the young agent. She'd walked into this temporary role at the lowest point of the Medico-Legal Lab's history. She remembered something Booth had said after they'd found Hodgins and Brennan buried alive, a comment to the effect of the team not working without any one part. While they'd all found a way to go on without Zack, the loss of Brennan and Booth himself had left them a shell of their former selves. Even the silly cases Flynn had tossed their way for distraction had moved slower than usual.

"We're taking another look at things. It's looking possible that Agent Flynn was murdered."

"_I was afraid of that_," Shaw said.

"Dr. Sweets is helping us comb over the CI files again. He says that there's unusual financial activity after Mr. Berman's death that might tie things together. Wire transfers, I believe he said."

"_Oh! Well, that sounds promising. Maybe it will link Krane and Berman together more clearly._"

"That's the hope. I wish I had more to offer, Agent Shaw."

"_It's okay. I'll go tough it out with Cullen and check in with you later today. Thanks for the update, Dr. Saroyan_."

"You're welcome. Take care, Agent Shaw."

Pouring a large cup of coffee, Cam sank into a chair and closed her eyes. _Time to focus_, she told herself, taking a large gulp. _We're close. I can feel it_. Another gulp, another sigh of exhaustion. She really needed to get more rest before these late nights killed her, never mind the alone time she was inadvertently affording Michelle and Finn. Maybe she should call and check in on her daughter. Coffee in tow, she decided to grab a late lunch and be the nagging mom.

Cam made it two steps out of the lounge before the screaming began.

"ANGIE!"

Hodgins bolted from his office below Cam, her mug shattering on the ground as it fell from her hand. Cam immediately oriented to Angela's office, the sound of Sweets shouting for help scarcely audible over the din.

"Oh God, not again!" Cam exclaimed, rushing in behind Hodgins.

The scene in the office was frightening: Angela was on the ground, half-curled in the fetal position and screaming. Sweets was beside her, gently shaking her in an attempt to jar her from her inner hell. At Cam's arrival, he looked relieved.

"What the hell happened?"

"I don't know. We were looking over Berman's records and she just went blank. I'm not sure what triggered it, but she tried to walk and hit the floor."

"Call the medical team," Cam ordered. "Don't restrain her, Hodgins. You might trigger more anxiety."

Sweets jumped on the emergency intercom as Hodgins stroked his wife's hair, speaking constantly to her. Cam watched as he called her name, begged her to see him, to know she was safe. Something in her gut suggested this was hardly a new experience for him. _She's in so much pain_.

"They're coming," Sweets stated. "PTSD?"

"Yeah," Cam said quietly. "But this is only the second time at work. Last time, her cell phone triggered it. Tell me exactly what you were doing before she slipped into this."

Sweets led her to Angela's monitor, where a birth certificate was on screen. "We pulled up an email from my account remotely. Apparently those transfers were going to a woman named Kimberly Crossley. The payments began a year after the birth of Crossley's daughter, Madeline."

"He was paying off a mistress?" Cam asked.

"Looks like it." Sweets paused as Hodgins managed to pull Angela into an embrace, the woman still sobbing. "I said something, like 'I should call Booth, he'd know what to do' and she just… left."

"Angie? Come on, talk to me. You're safe now, I promise," Hodgins whispered, rocking her gently. "Your leg can't be comfortable like that. Can you hear me? Can you help me get you back up?"

Cam winced as she glanced at the brace around Angela's knee. Although the fracture had technically healed, she still required crutches for stairs or long walks and was in the midst of extensive physiotherapy. A fall like this could possibly set her back weeks.

The Jeffersonian emergency team arrived and was quickly greeted by a fierce warning from Hodgins. Cam talked him gently into allowing her knee to be examined, her mind racing with the information from Sweets. _Why would Booth set her off? She lives with him right now._ There had to be something else, something bigger, but what?

Angela had managed to settle down, her pupils dilated as she glanced over at Sweets, then back to Cam. "It was happening again," she whispered. "The blast. The heat…"

"I'm so sorry, babe," Hodgins murmured. "Can you let the medics check your knee?"

"Huh?" Shaking her head slightly, she stared at the men attempting to straighten her left leg. "Sorry. It feels fine..."

"Nothing feels out of the ordinary," one medic said. "Recent sprain?"

"Patella fracture," Cam answered. "Still in physio."

"It might be more painful than usual for a couple days," the medic announced. "Did she hit her head?"

"No," Sweets said quickly. "I caught her on the way down."

"The phone rang…" Angela's brow furrowed. "I picked it up…"

"I think we'll be okay," Cam said firmly. "Thank you for coming."

"No trouble," the medic said. The two of them gathered their belongings and departed, leaving Angela surrounded by three very concerned friends.

"It rang… I can hear it ring…"

"Don't stress yourself out," Sweets said. "Maybe you should lie down for a few minutes?"

"No, no, no… I need to… I had it…" Angela pressed against Jack's chest, struggling to stand. "Get me up. I need to get up."

Cam moved swiftly to help him, the two of them lifting Angela to her feet. With a slight wobble, she limped back to her computer, staring at the screen. She was visibly frustrated as she read the document.

"Something… It's right there!" She struck the desk violently, shaking out her hand.

"Should we tell her what was being said?' Cam asked.

Sweets frowned. "I'm… I'm not sure. I would hate to send her back into that state."

Angela ignored them all, her eyes closing. "I walked across the living room to the kitchen… The phone was in my purse… I can see it in my hand. The display was a number… Random number…" She spun around and stared at Sweets. "You said something and I recognized it."

"What? Like, Sweets had said it to you before?" Hodgins was tense now, his hands still protectively on Angela's hips.

"No! Someone else said it… It made sense, like it was almost an attempt to be optimistic. Like a smile…" Her palm pressed to her mouth as she gasped. "Oh my God…"

"What is it, Ange?"

"I know who called me," she whispered. "I remember it all."

Her gaze fixed on Cam and immediately, she felt her heart begin to skip. Because she knew who had called, too. It was written on Angela's face.

"It was Shaw," Angela said. "Agent Shaw tried to kill me."

* * *

**_I am very, very curious to read your reviews for this one! Also, my residual Dollhouse rage has been satisfied and Flynn is dead. Good riddance! _**

**_To say that things are going to continue to be chaotic from here is an understatement. I finished the entire fic last night, and I know exactly where the last six chapters are going to take you and well... Be ready. I'm going to let you mull this one over and offer up theories on what's going on.  
_**


	22. Chapter 22

**_AN: Wow! The reviews and reactions are incredible! The number of shocked readers tells me that I succeeded in what I set out to do with it. As for Shaw's innocence or guilt, we'll settle that right now in chapter 22.  
_**

**_Music: Infra-Red - Placebo; Just Got Wicked - Cold  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**8022788 Seconds**

"Angela, are you absolutely certain?" Sweets asked.

She nodded vigorously. "Dead certain. She called and said that an FBI agent watching Pelant had trailed him to Booth and Bren's neighbourhood. He was probably armed, she said. She told me that I needed to hide, that they were moving in. And then she said someone was calling Booth, because he would know what to do." She spat out the last words, as if they were filthy. "She sent me upstairs, told me to be quiet… There was a noise… I was so sure he was coming in. And then… pain."

She burrowed against her husband, not noticing the growing fury in his face. Cam looked to Sweets, seeking advice. The young doctor looked as uncertain as she was.

"Booth," Hodgins said. "Call Booth over here."

"He's off the case—"

"Screw the case, Cam!" Hodgins snapped. "He's the only FBI agent I trust right now to tell us what to do. No offense Sweets, but you're barely experienced in the field."

"None taken. I second calling in Booth."

Cam nodded at last. "Yeah. Call Seeley. In the meantime, the lab is on lockdown. I'll blame it on a medical emergency. No one aside from Booth is entering today until we know what the hell's going on."

"We need to find Kimberly Crossley," Sweets said.

"Why?"

Angela glanced at Sweets, nodding her head. "It's definitely possible. Right age."

Hodgins clued in. "If you're right, this is bigger than we ever imagined."

Cam frowned. "People, catch me up. My coffee hit the floor, not my stomach."

Sweets gestured to the birth certificate on screen. "Berman's pay-off? The daughter, Madeline? She's the same approximate age as Shaw."

"Which would give her motive," Cam concluded, "if—"

"I'll pull her record from here," Angela said. "Call Booth now, Jack."

Cam rushed out of the office, flagging down the primary security officer for the lab. Sweet little Genevieve Shaw had tried to kill Angela. Had blown her up. Had worked her way into the Jeffersonian liaison position, even. _Oh crap! _Flynn's death made so much sense now.

They'd set him up to take the fall. Once again, Pelant was five steps ahead and Cam was furious.

* * *

"Identification, sir?"

"Are you kidding me?" Booth snapped, reaching for his badge. "There. Now let me through."

"I'm just—"

"Following orders," Sweets concluded for the guard, waving to Booth. "Get in here. This case just broke wide open."

Booth rushed towards him, anxious to learn why he'd been called over. Hodgins had only said that he should tell no one where he was going. No explanations, save the frantic nature of the call.

"What the hell's going on, Sweets?"

"We couldn't trust the phone lines here," Sweets said. "When you see the screen, you'll understand."

Booth followed him into Angela's office, where Cam, Hodgins and Angela stood together, staring at a series of photographs lined up. The young smiling girl in the upper left made no sense, but the next image – perhaps a thirteen-year-old – set off warnings in his head.

"Who is this?" he asked.

Angela turned around, forcing a smile. "I am so glad to see you. Apparently the only FBI employees we can trust are in this room." And with that ominous statement, a third image flew onto the screen.

A driver's licence from Massachusetts. The name listed was Sarah Berman, but the face was clearly a younger Genevieve Shaw.

"Holy shit…"

"Yeah, that's the general consensus," Hodgins affirmed. "Angie remembers the day of the explosion now. Three guesses on who phoned her and suggested the bedroom as a great place to be?"

Booth felt the blood draining from his face. "No way. Pelant spoofed her voice, like he did with Bones."

Sweets shook his head. "There's too much corroboration and plus, she was responding back and forth. I remember you saying that Dr. Brennan just kept talking at you."

"But she… We've worked with her! She's always been so helpful."

"Yeah, not really digging on her version of help anymore," Angela snapped. "Meet the illegitimate half-sister of Sophia Berman."

His head was about to explode. Shaw was the one who'd offered to actually investigate Angela's near-death. She'd allowed him to remain in the loop about Bones and Christine, had let Cam investigate Flynn. _She has a kid! She works hard to take care of Danny_. None of this made sense.

"Agent Booth?"

He glanced up at Sweets. "Yeah?"

"I was saying that we've traced everything and confirmed it as best we can. Agent Shaw was born Madeline Crossley." He gestured to the screen. "Her mother, Kimberly, is an ex-con. Armed robbery and assault charges, drug charges, prostitution… Nothing pleasant. Berman was sending support payments, but she wasn't the nicest person to live with. Madeline ran away at age 17, right after completing high school."

Booth gestured to the driver's licence. "Sarah Berman?"

"Her assumed name for a year, before a legal name change was filed on grounds of fear for her safety," Sweets continued.

"There's no record of Genevieve Shaw prior to age 18," Angela confirmed. "She enrolled in pre-med at Harvard, but dropped out before switching to medical school. She took criminology with a computer science minor at Northeastern University and applied into the Bureau after graduation."

"Pelant did a year at Northeastern," Booth noted absently.

Cam swallowed hard. "I'm thinking that we might find an overlap…"

"Pre-med… Cam, would she know enough to make the cuts we found on Sawyer?" Hodgins asked.

"Yes, absolutely," Cam replied. "God, I feel sick. She knows everything about this case, about our lab…"

"It would explain how Pelant knows us so well to target us," Sweets suggested. "She'd know how to push all of our buttons."

Booth began to pace, still not ready to believe that the petite, friendly agent was on Pelant's team. "Why? I don't understand why she'd do this."

"We found one of her old Criminology papers," Angela said. "Sweets took a look through it, as well as an article for her campus paper."

"Genevieve Shaw has an extreme preoccupation with justice," Sweets began. "It likely stems from the erratic childhood she had. Her mother was in and out of jail, using drugs and, by Kimberly's own admission, performing sexual favors for money with her daughter in the house."

"You talked to this Crossley woman?" Booth asked.

"Tracked her down via the parole system," Sweets replied. "Her interest in medical school was likely a desire to help people, but her switch to Criminology… Well, her paper is extremely anti-drug and anti-crime. To her, the Bureau must have seemed a perfect job."

"She's always been an eager caseworker," Cam concurred. "A do-gooder."

Sweets nodded. "Shaw knows Pelant, possibly. She knew her father's name. She believes in the system. Then, she learns that the Bureau hid the criminal that indirectly killed her father for its own benefit."

"The system is corrupt," Hodgins chimed in. "She can't even trust her coworkers."

"She remembers Pelant from school, or maybe she contacts her sister, Sophia. She gets angry," Sweets continues. "Maybe she supports Pelant's general vision, his hacktivism. Maybe she doesn't buy that he's killed anyone."

"Or maybe she simply stops caring," Angela offered up.

"But her kid. Her mom watches Danny," Booth said.

"Not her birth mother," Cam replied. "Beyond that, we're still looking."

"We need to tell Hacker! Or Cullen!" Hodgins began to pace the room, tugging absently at his hair. "If she's colluding with Pelant, we're all at risk."

"There's not enough evidence," Cam said.

"It's _never_ enough evidence!" Angela snapped. "Except when it's Bren."

"We can't afford being removed from this case, especially not now. At best, we have a conflict of interest—"

"We have someone who tried to kill me!" Angela was in Cam's face now, her fists curling at her sides. "I am a witness and I remember who I talked to that day. She deserves to be arrested for that, doesn't she?"

"Angela—"

"_Doesn't she_?"

"Enough!" Booth shouted, stepping between the women. "This is what that asshole wants: us at each other's throats instead of tearing out his jugular. You're both right. There isn't enough to tie Shaw to the murders, but there is most definitely enough to at least bring her in for the bomb. Which is what I suggest you do…."

His voice trailed off as he realized the full ramifications of Shaw being complicit. The mobile he'd given her, the footage from his security system – had she actually investigated it? Or had she buried it, destroyed it to conceal the truth?

"Sweets, you need to call Hacker. _Only_ Hacker," Booth stressed. "Tell him what you've learned here. He'll move on it. Let him know that there's evidence I left in Shaw's hands concerning the bomb, evidence she may have buried."

"What about the murders?" Hodgins asked.

"Once you have Shaw locked down for the explosion, do a search warrant. Look for particulates. My instincts say Pelant's behind most of this, but Shaw might have been an accomplice. Cam, check Shaw's badge for the Jeffersonian. Run traces and see if she was in here without a known reason."

Cam nodded. "You got it."

Booth embraced Angela tightly. "If you say it wasn't a spoof, then I believe you. She'll pay, Angela. We're behind you."

"I know you are."

"Sweets, hold down the fort for me," Booth said, taking a step back.

"Where are you going?"

"Shaw knows the case and is likely working with Pelant. She knows where Bones was last seen and the vehicle description, which means Pelant knows. I'm done waiting for the damn system to catch up to what we've always known."

Booth stormed out of the office, his mind fixed on one goal: finding Bones and Christine before Shaw or Pelant. He'd played by their rules for ninety-three days, stayed in the system as Max had asked. Now, it was time to play by his own rules, his personal code.

_I will protect my family_, he resolved. _And I will kill anyone who gets in my way_.

* * *

**8467207 Seconds**

_Clarksville, TN_

Her father entered the tiny house with a blank expression – his "cribbage face", as Brennan understood it. Lately, their days were spent in near silence, aside from a mutual appreciation of her daughter's improving health and restored laughter. Torn between confronting him and ignoring him, she ultimately chose the latter. Brennan smiled, dancing her phalanges for Christine's amusement. She cooed and giggled, reaching out to grab them.

"You will never seize my phalanges! Ha ha ha!" It was the best villain impression she could muster without cartoons to refer to. Thankfully, Christine enjoyed her playacting.

The fridge door opened and shut, followed by a cupboard opening. Foraging behavior. The cupboards were rather sparse in the home. Her father's allies had not been able to stock things as well as their other temporary domiciles. They would have to chance a trip to a store soon.

"Tempe."

She glanced up from Christine, finding her father hovering just beyond the living room archway. "Yes?"

"You can't keep this up forever. Neither can I."

"Give your initiation of discussion just now, I would conclude that your latter premise is acceptable. You chose to speak after prolonged silence."

Max groaned in frustration. "Can you try talking to me as a human being?"

"This is how I speak. If you don't like it, that cannot be helped." Christine gurgled and she realized the time. "Could you bring the antibiotics?"

"Still?"

"Final dose," she called after him. "We must ensure that the bacteria do not replicate and spread anew, right Christine? The bacteria are bad!"

He handed her the dropper bottle, perching on the arm of the couch. "Tempe, this has gone on long enough."

"What has?" She carefully squirted the medicine into the baby's mouth, grateful that banana was a pleasing flavor for her.

"You've given me a cold shoulder since we left Texas," Max said. "It takes two to argue, kiddo. You dished it out, too."

"If you believe that my reluctance to speak with you is predicated on anger alone, you've missed the point entirely," Brennan said quietly. "You could have been calm and rational about presenting your ideas, but the fact remains that we haven't truly dealt with you and mom leaving us behind, nor have you ever accepted that I have a _right_ to my anger. You expect me to just get over it, and that's not possible."

"I don't expect you to get over it—"

"You do," she insisted. "You barged back into my life, bribing me with snickerdoodles, manipulating me with Russ and the girls, convincing me to put myself at risk during your murder trial… I have done as Booth suggested and allowed you into my life, but I did so by shutting away the memories of those years."

"You forgave Russ," Max said.

"Because he was a child, like me. A child in a bad situation, convinced by the system that it was for the best to abandon me. He didn't know what they would do to me." She lifted her daughter into her arms, holding onto her for comfort. "He didn't know that people were capable of locking children in the trunk of a car for breaking dishes."

"You're right," he agreed. "Russ was a child. You were children and every moment you remained with us, you were in danger. We didn't want that for you."

"But we were in danger anyway! We both suffered. Yes, we were in danger with you, but at least there would have been love as well. You compounded our pain with your disappearance. Look around, Dad. This is hardly a good life for a child. We've been chased on highways, risked crashing the car and hurting Christine, but she's with us, isn't she? She's loved. She misses her father, but she doesn't feel utterly abandoned in the world."

"And you did," Max concluded.

"Yes. And having lived this life now, I no longer can hypothesize that it was simply not practical to bring children with you. I've seen that it's possible to get messages home, to take children on the goat."

"Lam, sweetheart."

"Whatever!" Brennan snapped. "So when you shout at me and tell me how awful I am to 'hold it over your head', you're negating years of careful consideration and pain so deep, I almost lost my chance forever with Booth. Can you begin to appreciate my perspective?"

Max nodded. "I'm sorry, Tempe. I was frustrated. I forget sometimes to look at the complete picture. I see a brilliant, successful scientist with a beautiful daughter and a man who has stood by her for years. I don't always see that you box things up and keep them from people."

"I didn't mean to be cruel," she said. "I put my metatarsals straight down my esophagus. But you are right about one thing: I am not good at this life. It's too painful. I've been on isolated assignments and digs, but this… This is too much."

"I have news on that front," Max said. "I checked in with my contact and there's talk of lifting the warrant soon. He wasn't able to provide details, but he said that another suspect is emerging for your friend's death."

Brennan felt a great pressure alleviated. _Home. I can go home soon_.

"In the meantime, we're going to make a final move soon, and it is final," Max continued. "We'll pack up in a few days and head back to Mankato."

"To Maggie?" Brennan smiled at this news. "But I thought it was unwise to return anywhere we've already been."

"Yeah, but if they haven't thought to check her out by now, they never will. Things will be easier with someone who can shop for us. Plus, you two got along pretty well, didn't you?"

"Absolutely. Once she relinquished her obsessive recitations of Benjamin Franklin quotes, she revealed a rather affable personality and a sharp mind. She's truly not working in a job that is suited to her intellect. I'd like her to move to D.C. I could find her a place at the Jeffersonian."

"I think she's attached to the farm, but that's sweet of you, Tempe. Want me to tuck Christine in?"

She glanced down, surprised to find the baby asleep. "Oh. Please."

Handing her over, she rose and made her way to the kitchen for a drink. Catching sight of herself in the reflective surface of the window, she winced. She'd lost a noticeable amount of weight and her face looked tired. Absently, she ran her fingers through her blonde hair, still displeased with the shade. She couldn't go home like this. Booth would be so upset.

_I'll dye it red in Mankato_, she decided. _I need to eat better_.

Home was on the horizon now and hope improved her spirits. Opening the fridge door, she pulled out a brick of tofu and assorted vegetables. She needed to get back to being herself. She needed to let go of Andy Buxley, Angie Parker and whatever alias was on her new ID.

Temperance Brennan was coming out of hiding.

* * *

**_Oh, Shaw... How far you've fallen.  
_**

**_(For the record, I actually love her... And yet, I've always found how nice and helpful she is to be... well, TOO helpful somehow. It struck me that of all the things that no one would ever suspect, Shaw colluding with Pelant would top the list.)  
_**

**_For those looking backwards, seeking hints... let's just say Pelant wasn't always talking to the same anonymous ally.  
_**

**_Thank you for your continued support and reviews! It's such a pleasure to write for you. If you're looking for another fix, be sure to subscribe to my new 'story', The Bites Of The Partnership Pie. It'll be my collection of one-shots and ficlets based off prompts and such. Two are already up, and two more are en route.  
_**


	23. Chapter 23

**_AN: I'm crossing my fingers that yesterday was just FF's Friday the 13th a week late or something. Yowsa. I swear, there is another story that's a collection of prompt responses and such. My favourite of the four I am TRYING to post thus far is "Even Heroes Need To Be Held" but I'm partial to each for a reason and am working on more prompts from LJ.  
_**

**_But getting back to our heroes and their troubles, things are a mess, aren't they? If I tell you that Booth will finally see Brennan again in chapter 25, will that help you? In any case, strap in and be ready... because here comes my favourite intern of all time...  
_**

**_Oh yes, and I don't own Benjamin Franklin quotes or Shakespeare's words, although I love the Bard... I really, really do.  
_**

**_Music: It's Been A While - Staind; Resistance - Muse (I did a B&B vid for this because to me, this is the song of the Jeffersonian family for the hiatus)  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**8467207 Seconds**

_Tucson, AZ_

He sat quietly in the reserve room, taking down notes in detail from his latest interview. He'd bought a yellow legal pad for the road, thinking of Bones and her scattered notes around the house. It seemed fitting, considering why she'd been here.

He'd been on the road for four days now. Launching from Abilene, he'd quickly realized that the local police had no clue where his family had fled; the officer who'd pursued them from the hospital couldn't even ascertain direction of travel. While that was a testament to Max's skill, it was a pain in Booth's ass. Abandoning the Texas angle, he backtracked to University of Arizona, hoping that someone in the library could offer up a clue as to how Max was choosing their hiding places.

The librarian had been of some help: he'd noted that Andy Buxley was researching a book on social anthropology and "small town America". He'd also helped her locate information on computers and technology – "She wanted to contrast the high-tech world with the old customs," he explained. Booth was proud of Bones for a clever cover story. She'd managed to work here for weeks undetected.

He was still no closer to understanding Max's plans, and that worried him. Pelant and Shaw were still AWOL and he had no way to verify the safety of his family. He knew that public appeals were useless: Max would suspect a set-up and refuse contact. All he knew was that Bones had first shown up in the library approximately 10-12 days after she fled. Arizona was a distance from Washington, but not _that_ far. They'd stopped elsewhere along the way.

Russ wasn't picking up his phone. A call to his boss had revealed that he, Amy and the kids had gone camping and wouldn't return for two more days. His only hope was the Jeffersonian team finally clearing Bones, opening up the opportunity for a press conference inviting her home.

The only bright spot in the last few days was the arrest warrant out on Shaw for the attack on Angela and the murder of Flynn and the now identified mystery victim, Jason Alleyne. It had taken an incredibly tedious and back-door process, given the fact Shaw had never fired a round preserved in evidence, but a trace on the previous agent with her service weapon had yielded a single casing to compare with one lodged inside Jason's body.

So many lies… Genny had no son – not anymore. He'd passed away suddenly, weeks after the couponing case. Her supposed mother? The mother of her son's father, who'd passed away in a car crash three months into her pregnancy. The mobile? Filed away without inspection. His laptop, however, was the most hurtful: Hacker pulled it from evidence and Angela determined that there was no data corruption. In fact, tucked away in a hidden folder, they'd located footage of Pelant in the house the day of the christening. _All lies_. Fisher had relayed the information, finding it necessary to quote Shakespeare: "_One may smile, and smile, and be a villain_." It was from Hamlet, and Booth jotted it down, because it truly captured Shaw's grand deception.

"Got a quote about Bones?" he'd asked the intern.

After a moment's thought, he'd replied: "_The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept_."

It, too, seemed fitting.

With a frustrated sigh, Booth pushed back his chair and headed outside, mulling his next course of action. Perhaps Angela could map out locations, suggest a likely route of travel where he could pop into gas stations and flash photos. The universe, however, had other plans: his phone rang and he answered it, greeting Hodgins anxiously.

Only it wasn't Hodgins at all.

* * *

**8466301 Seconds**

"King of the lab!"

They were four words he'd never expected to hear in his office again. Not from _him_. Spinning around, Hodgins stared at the unexpected visitor, taking in his jeans and t-shirt, his short hair cut and the stack of papers in his hand.

"Zack? How the hell did you get past security?"

"Same way as last time, Hodgins. Don't worry: I'll go back to the hospital willingly, as long as they allow me to show you my work."

"Your work?" As Zack began to grin, Hodgins understood. "You solved it, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. Pelant is hardly as smart as he believes himself to be. You may want to call Ms. Julian."

"Why?"

"So she can have the warrant removed, of course," Zack replied casually. He stepped out into the main floor and yelled. "I need everyone at the Angelatron, please."

Hodgins laughed as he heard Cam upstairs: "Zack? How did you get in here?"

"You need to improve security, Dr. Saroyan. I could recommend solutions, but I have more urgent information for you."

They all convened at Angela's office, where she waited with open arms for Zack. She embraced him tightly, grinning ear to ear, and Hodgins felt a tremendous weight lifting. _He's done it. I can feel it_. He watched as Zack passed Angela a portable external drive, asking her to load something called "Stopwatch".

Cam entered with a smirk. "Zack, please tell me you have something good that will justify my pretending not to notice an escaped patient in my lab. Again."

Zack nodded. "It took longer than I anticipated, but I was able to work with the materials given to me and determined precisely how Pelant managed to frame Dr. Brennan and murder Ms. Johannsen and Mr. Krane. I must say that I don't believe Pelant killed Ethan Sawyer, at least not on his own. But you'll see what I mean."

The program launched, revealing an image from a grainy camera feed – perhaps a convenience store. Zack took over the keyboard, making several quick strokes. Hodgins gasped as the time and date changed to 1979 in the blink of an eye.

"This is what the first program accomplishes. It was hidden within the book codes that Angela found. It fetches digital streams and allows remote editing. There are programs capable of similar changes available online as freeware. It required very little modification for Pelant. I'm guessing he also used it to alter the CCTV feeds when Inger Johannsen's body was placed in the file room."

"But how would he write it?" Cam asked. At Angela's pointed look, she added, "You know they'll ask me."

Zack shrugged. "He likely already had it, or perhaps used the computer found in his house."

"But that was missing several parts, according to Booth and Sweets," Angela interjected.

"Parts that are tiny enough to hide in a ceiling or even a kitchen pipe," Zack said. "Or he wrote it before house arrest. Or someone gave it to him. It's easy to obtain such a code."

"Well, I feel dumb," Angela muttered.

"No, Angela. You knew he did it. You just couldn't prove the means or describe the method. I've shown you how he fetched the footage to alter it." Zack said, strangely encouraging in his tone. "Run the video file."

Angela worked with her tablet and gasped as the screen launched a video feed. It was the security cameras at Hinsdale, only the date was now April 29th, 2012. Brennan left the hospital in the precise manner as the original damning footage. The file then shifted into another set of footage, also marked March 29th, 2012. In it, a different woman passed quickly by a camera, moving towards the rear of the hospital.

"Shaw," Hodgins whispered.

"The footage was swapped," Zack pronounced. "The actual footage from March was shifted into April to mask Dr. Brennan's true visit. The footage from May was pushed back far enough that the FBI wouldn't notice it. It's a basic edit to the sub-picture mask, which reads like a subtitled language track."

Cam began to grin. "So we can demonstrate that Dr. Brennan was not at Hinsdale when the footage initially showed her to be."

"Now, this part took a lot longer to perfect," Zack continued. "Angela, open up 'Locks'."

Angela complied. A program launched and immediately connected to the internet. The Direct TV website launched and loaded the streaming on demand page. A movie was selected for playback and suddenly, they were watching the beginning of the recent Sherlock Holmes film.

"We all found the codes in the books, but I noticed while examining the film list that Pelant was watching movies continuously for up to 24 hours in a row. No one watches movies like that. It then occurred to me that he was viewing digital satellite. Ankle monitor bracelets operate based on pings of GPS coordinates – in this case, every 38 seconds." Zack lifted his jeans, revealing an ankle monitor. "Watch the fun."

"Where the hell did you get that?" Hodgins asked.

"Bought it off Craigslist." With a few key taps, he opened a secondary program. "This simulates the monitoring company," he explained. "Now, if we call up my bracelet, notice the current location."

"The Jeffersonian," Cam said.

"Correct." He tapped several other keys and nothing changed. "Pass me a pair of strong scissors."

"Can't you unlock it?"

"I need to induce a tamper alarm," Zack replied.

Shrugging, Hodgins crossed the room, retrieving a large set of scissors from a drawer. At Zack's gesture, he cut through the bracelet. As it fell to the floor, all eyes flashed to the screen.

The monitoring system insisted that all was well and Zack remained in the Jeffersonian.

"One need not remove it, but I wanted to demonstrate how precise the programming is," Zack explained. "GPS monitoring bracelets operate by pinging between it and the monitoring company's secure website via satellite."

"And the pay-per-view movies were handled via satellite!" Angela exclaimed.

"Essentially, Pelant re-routed the company to read his digital receiver as his bracelet, allowing him to come and go at will."

Cam shook her head. "I don't know what's scarier: Pelant pulling this off or you cracking it, Zack."

"I would hope the former. I am extremely intelligent, Dr. Saroyan. Also, hackers managed to seize control of an American drone via spoofed GPS coordinates in December of 2011. This hack was inevitable, given the right motivation."

"What about the transfers? Krane's body and Sawyer's ward change?" Cam asked.

"Likely executed through the digital connection," Zack said. "Government systems frequently connect to satellite receivers for various protocols. Don't make a mistake: this is expert hacking. But it's also entirely possible under house arrest, rendering Pelant's alibi obsolete."

Hodgins looked to Cam, studying her reaction to the demonstration. Was it finally enough? Could they finally bring their friend home?

"The hair could have transferred easily weeks prior to Sawyer's death," she said at last. "Shaw had access to the curare plant, as the pass card trace showed. Pelant has no alibi that can be verified. The footage has been proven altered. Shaw was in the vicinity prior to Sawyer's escape…."

"Meaning?" Angela asked.

With a grin, Cam replied, "Zack is forever King of the Lab. I'm calling Cullen immediately. It's time to bring Dr. Brennan home."

Angela threw herself at Zack, hugging him tight and laughing. "I love you, Zack!"

"I thought you loved Hodgins?" he asked, awkwardly returning her embrace.

"I meant like a brother, silly!"

"Oh. Well, I love you back."

Hodgins joined the hug, rubbing his hand over Zack's newly shorn locks. "Dude, you are amazing!"

"I couldn't have done it without your assistance, Hodgins." Sadness crossed his face suddenly. "I have to call Dr. Sweets. I need to be remanded to the hospital."

"Not yet, Zack," Angela pleaded.

"No, I need to. I find that I miss my therapeutic endeavors. I understand myself when I examine my behavior rigorously."

Hodgins glanced out the office door, watching as Cam talked with great emotion on her cell phone. "No, man. You have to make one other call first."

Scrolling through his contacts list to Booth's name, he hit send and passed the phone to Zack.

"_Hello_?"

"Agent Booth," Zack said. "Hodgins advises me that I should speak with you."

"_What's wrong, Zack? Where are you_?"

"I'm at the lab with Hodgins and Angela. I believe that I've been handed the phone so that I might share what I've found with you."

"_What you found? Zack, tell me. I need good news_."

"I can provide that. I've just cleared Dr. Brennan. Cam is making the call to remove the warrant." Zack held the phone from his ear as Booth could be heard shouting. "Hodgins, you can take the call now. I will contact Dr. Sweets from your office."

Hodgins took the phone, chuckling as Booth gave one final hoot. "So, when are you getting the hell back here? Don't you think you ought to be here when they come home?"

He heard a car door opening in the background. "_I'm heading for the airport right now. Hodgins, tell me this is really happening_."

"It is. We're getting Dr. B back here."

"_Thank Zack for me. Thank all of you, really. You never gave up on Bones. She won't forget it and neither will I_."

"We're family, man. Dysfunctional, genius, crime-fighting family. See you soon."

And then there were two. Jack watched as Angela limped towards him, her eyes moist and her grin infectious.

"She's coming home," she whispered hoarsely. "Ninety-eight days…"

"You kept us going, Angie. Your love for her kept us going."

He pulled her close, holding her as she wept happy tears for a change. Maybe this wouldn't sway her to continue working at the Medico-Legal Lab. Maybe she would have another nightmare tonight, thrashing and sobbing until he woke her from her personal hell. But perhaps her heart could begin to heal from the agony of this endless summer, and that was enough for him. Her happiness was paramount.

A knock on the door drew their attention to Cam, who, like Angela, had begun to weep. "It's done," she managed to blurt out. "It's pulled."

"Zack?" Hodgins asked.

Cam swiped at her tears furiously. "Sweets will be here any minute. Booth called him."

"Let's go say goodbye to him," Angela whispered.

Hodgins helped her out of the office, the crutches abandoned. Zack was standing near the platform, staring at the centre table wistfully.

"I wish I could come back," he confessed. "I know I can't."

Hodgins sighed. "We wish it too, Z-Man."

"Zack?"

Sweets entered the lab in a hurry, his face crimson from exertion. He paused several feet from his patient, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You've really got to stop escaping on me," Sweets remarked lightly.

"Stop needing me for cases then," Zack retorted, a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh snap!" Cam teased.

Sweets placed his hands on Zack's shoulders, studying his appearance. "I'm glad you're safe. Nice hair, by the way."

"It was time," Zack said. "Just like it's time to focus on release."

Sweets smiled. "You're finally ready?"

"Um, Zack. Usually for murder, the possibility of release after being found _non compos mentis_ is slim to none," Hodgins said.

"I know. But I didn't murder anyone."

All three of them looked to Sweets, who was visibly stunned. "I thought you said you didn't want to risk prison."

"I'm aware of that, and I appreciate your respect for my confidentiality for the past few years," Zack said. "But I accept now that although I was an accessory, I didn't actually kill that man. I understand your reasoning and now concur."

Angela inched forward, tapping Zack on the shoulder. "You told us all that you did it."

"I told The Master where to find him and hid the body. To me, that was as bad as a fatal blow. Besides, I remembered what Hodgins told me about prison and decided to persist in that statement to protect myself. I'm hoping that I can remain in the hospital."

He was perfectly calm explaining this, as if detailing his last meal. Sweets was nodding, confirming his story. Hodgins was stunned all over again. _He didn't kill the lobbyist. Not directly_. It didn't change anything for him: he loved the kid like a brother. What it changed was the possibility of Zack returning to freedom, to a life where he could look up his own math puzzles to solve.

"Goodbye, Dr. Saroyan, Angela, Dr. Hodgins. Please tell Dr. Brennan I'm sorry I disappointed her before."

"'Bye Zack," Angela said, waving. "We'll visit soon, if you'll let us."

"I would appreciate the company," he said. "Although I imagine I will lose privileges for some time for my escape."

"We'll work it out," Sweets reassured him. "Keep me updated on Brennan," he added.

The trio watched as the doctor escorted his patient, speechless and all thinking the same thing: there would never be another King of the Lab again. Not ever.

* * *

**8474461 Seconds**

_Mankato, MN_

There was truly nothing better after a lousy shift at the diner than a glass of wine at sunset. Sipping her chardonnay, Maggie reclined in the porch swing, taking in the lush white clouds hued in pinks and purples. How she wished she could quit her job! Her boss took advantage of her competence, shuffling the duties of others onto her instead of insisting they pull their own weight. It was difficult to find good, stable help, but it was hardly fair. And yet, she couldn't bear to leave the family farm. She'd been raised here on this land, and while she could likely secure a job at the university, she knew from acquaintances and customers that the hours could prove erratic. The animals needed her.

"_Wine is constant proof that God loves us and wants to see us happy_," she recited from memory. As usual, Benjamin knew precisely what to say.

She looked forward to the next few days, well aware of Max's intent to return for a longer stay. She'd found that she had a great deal in common with her second cousin, exchanging opinions on historical events and cultural differences with breaks for light banter and wit. Temperance had warmed up since their first meeting, had grown more open and sociable. It made it easy to drop her own defense mechanisms and live a little. It also gave her hope that perhaps it wasn't too late to find a companion, perhaps have a child or two.

Her cousin had suggested moving to Washington D.C. and putting her degree to use, and while it sounded wonderful to have family nearby, the farm beckoned. She couldn't possibly afford to maintain it and a separate home in another city and she was too proud to take Temperance's offer of funds.

"We'll have some time in a few days," she reminded herself. "We can torment Max and make him milk the cow." For some reason, her uncle was terrified of the task.

Finishing her wine, Maggie rose to her bare feet and stretched overhead. One more glass of wine and then she'd wander the property before darkness fell. At least she had the next week off to relax. She could weigh her options more carefully then.

"_To succeed, jump as quickly at opportunities as you do conclusions_!"

Maggie giggled, slipping inside. Perhaps she could find a job lecturing on Benjamin. There were museums in Washington, after all. Franklin's memorial was in Philadelphia, but that was close enough, wasn't it? As she drank her second glass of wine, the thought of being paid to spout her many quotes grew more hilarious. The quotes swirled together in her head and she laughed, praising the wine's potency. She'd have to buy a bottle for Max and Temperance when they returned. Maybe two.

It was when she stepped out into the expansive fields that she sensed something was off. She could hear the chickens clucking when they usually were asleep or quietly resting. Her head spun and her vision was off. Rubbing her eyes, she took a step towards the barn and felt her legs sway beneath her.

_Wine is not that strong_, she thought nervously. Her head lolled and she stumbled, trails of starry colour obscuring the scenery. Dropping to the ground, she rolled onto her back, finding herself face to face with a young woman with a rather angry expression.

"Who are you?"

"Where's Temperance?"

Maggie frowned. "I don't know."

A slap struck her face and she was yanked to her feet. Not even the pain could keep her eyes open now, and Maggie understood that she'd been drugged. _I thought a man was after them_…

"Tell me where they are!"

"Don't… know… Please—"

Another slap and another still. She bit the inside of her cheek and tasted blood. And still, she couldn't fight the drugs, couldn't save herself.

"Fine," she heard through the chemicals. "I have all the time in the world to make you talk."

One final, vicious strike to her head and all was lost.

* * *

**_Maggie... Someone hold ME. Also, I love Zack and it's always bothered me that his friends never knew that he didn't physically participate in the death. We'll see Zack one more time, because I love him and I can make a place for him. Next chapter: two guest appearances by characters we haven't yet seen in this fic, including another favourite of mine...  
_**

**_Thank you for your continued support and reviews! It's such a pleasure to write for you. If you're looking for another fix, be sure to subscribe to my new 'story', The Bites Of The Partnership Pie. It'll be my collection of one-shots and ficlets based off prompts and such. FF keeps making it disappear and reappear and I have to wonder if this is because I interviewed a magician recently. Look for it!  
_**


	24. Chapter 24

**_AN: Maggie... *sniff* Sometimes I hate where the characters take me. This chapter's a different matter: one character popped up and greeted me politely and asked for a guest role. I very happily obliged.  
_**

**_Oh! I made a YouTube playlist for the fic. Warning: it's complete even through chapters not posted and you may want to avoid those songs for spoilers for the fic. Songs are in order by chapter. Remove spaces etc. (hate the no link garbage) youtube dot com (slash)playlist(?)list = PL4421A69402C5A66E  
_**

**_Music: It's Been A While Since I Was Your Man - Matthew Good; Sort Of A Protest Song - Matthew Good Band; Broken - Seether ft Amy Lee  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**8740800 Seconds**

They hadn't come home.

They hadn't come home and Booth was terrified. The televised press conference had been picked up by all the major news outlets. It had explicitly indicated that Temperance Brennan was not only eliminated as a suspect, but that a new suspect was being pursued. Booth had appeared, urging Bones to return home or call.

That first night, he'd been unable to sleep, staring at his phone and willing it to ring. By morning, he'd decided that they had no TV where they were, that Max would grab a morning paper and send a message again through his mystery contact. At the twenty-four hour point, he phoned Russ again, irate that he remained without cell service. The second morning brought panic with the sunrise as he began to imagine horrific scenarios: Christine and Bones dead; Pelant holding them prisoner; Pelant and Shaw hurting his family.

Cam suggested that perhaps it wasn't safe for them to leave their hiding place, that it might take a day or two for a contact to reach them with the good news. It was reasonable, and so Booth went to church, lit candles for the three of them and watched the phone.

But now it was the third full day, and Booth found his emotions were running wild, veering from giddy anticipation to paranoia in seconds. The fear was only one layer, and that frustrated him, because as far as he knew, he should be happy and scared. Nothing else made sense, but he felt it all anyway. He needed insight and advice from someone who wouldn't coddle him out of friendship. Instinctively, his aimless driving had brought him to a restaurant where a former FBI psychiatrist now charmed the D.C. elite with his cooking. Thankfully, the doctor was in and working alone in the kitchen.

"Agent Booth! It's been a while since I've seen you." Looking Booth up and down, taking in his rumpled clothing and bloodshot eyes, Gordon Wyatt shook his head. "I take it you haven't come for my spectacular Dutch apple pie, then?"

"No, but the pie would be nice," Booth admitted, taking a seat at the chef's table.

"Very well, then. I was just tidying up before heading out. Could use a slice of pie myself," the psychiatrist-turned-chef added lightly.

Booth slumped in the chair, mind racing in several directions at once. He should be happy about the warrant being dropped for Bones, ecstatic about seeing his family. And he was: his heart was brimming with hope and longing for the two ladies in his life. But there was also concern at Bones' lack of contact despite the media announcements. Fear of Pelant, who remained on the loose. Fear of Shaw, who had killed people as well. He felt as if his heart was a kaleidoscope in the hands of a manic child, endlessly twisting and shifting until he could no longer discern what was real and what was merely the product of anxiety.

Setting down a large piece of what Booth had to admit was the tastiest looking pie he'd seen, Gordon Wyatt took a seat across from him and speared a warm slice of apple. He chewed thoughtfully, smiling to himself and setting down the fork with a _clink_.

"I heard that your lovely partner has been cleared of murder," he said casually. "Not that anyone who knew her could possibly believe such a tale."

Booth nodded, picking up his fork. "It took far longer than it should have to convince some people, but we did it."

"And now she will be returning home with the lovely Christine in tow. You must be excited."

Booth swallowed his first bite of pie, unable to resist a contented moan. Wyatt was right about the pie: it ought to be legendary in Washington. All the same, he knew the former doctor's strategy: food was his way of drawing out truths people referred to keep quiet.

"I am excited," Booth said emphatically. "And relieved."

"But also conflicted," Wyatt noted. At Booth's startled look, he continued. "Agent Booth, you wear your heart on your sleeve, surrounded by blinking marquee lights. You're here because you feel guilty for not feeling perfectly happy."

"Well, of course I'm not 'perfectly happy'," he snapped, making air quotes. "Pelant's still out there. So's Shaw. The warrant lifted three days ago and Bones hasn't called home. There's so much I don't know…"

Gordon gestured to the pie, urging Booth to eat. He complied, if only because he sensed that this conversation would be painful, albeit helpful. Like yanking an infected tooth at the dentist.

"You're absolutely correct: this is a time of great uncertainty. You have no proof of life, as you would say. The enemy is still out there and you have your family on the front line instead of being safely tucked behind your gun. But there's more at work here. Until now, you've been consumed with removing the warrant, for making it possible to be reunited with Dr. Brennan and your daughter. Now that the reunion is possible, you're facing the realities of it." Gordon smiled. "You know, it's remarkable how you two have influenced each other. In this case, for instance, you've been compartmentalizing. A Brennan specialty."

Booth frowned, shaking his head. "I haven't been compartmentalizing. I've been doing nothing but feeling miserable for months!"

"But you have. You've kept one cluster of emotion stowed away and now it's rearing its ugly head. You're angry, Agent Booth. Furious."

"Yeah, I'm furious! With the Bureau, with Pelant. I've always been furious with them."

"That's not all," Gordon chided. "Dig deeper."

Booth struck the table as a wave of emotion bubbled to the surface: a fury, not unlike the one he'd taken out on Pelant's smug little face with the help of a window pane. He _was_ angry. He felt betrayed by his place of work – a place he'd devoted years of time, effort and near-death experiences to. He felt disgusted that people he'd relied on as colleagues could prove so callous and cruel. He also felt… _cheated_. Robbed. One hundred and one days were lost, and that was made worse by the ridiculously long journey it had taken them to finally be together.

"I'm angry at the loss," he admitted quietly. "You know how long it took for Bones and I to get on the same page. The more I think of that lost time, the detours and distance, the more I resent having it taken from me when we _finally_ got our shit together. I'm angry at myself, I guess. If I hadn't pushed her that night in front of the Hoover, or if I'd just _waited_ for her, we would have been together when we got back from that seven month stint apart. I'm an idiot, Gordon. A goddamn idiot."

Wyatt leaned closer, his expression sympathetic. "I understand that. A part of you has been waiting to grieve that wasted time, but you've not allowed it to surface. You probably feared bringing it up because you didn't want to send Temperance running for cover again, yes?"

Booth nodded. "She's still so unsure of herself. I love it about her, love that she chooses to grow for me, for us. But I learned my lesson the first time."

"Is that why you're denying your anger at her for running off?"

It was a rather blunt and pointed question, one that struck Booth in the gut. His instinctive response was to tell Wyatt where to go, throw his pie on the floor for spite and storm out. A small part of him, however, agreed. _She left you. She didn't trust you enough to tell you. She didn't let you say a proper goodbye_.

"She was being logical. She didn't want me to lose my job and she knew what Pelant could do to her in the system," Booth weakly countered.

"All true, and that's why you've forgiven her already, haven't you?" Gordon asked.

"I have."

"But you're still hurt."

Booth reluctantly nodded. Yeah, he was hurt. He was still unable to understand why she hadn't trusted him to keep her safe, why she hadn't at least said she was bolting. Didn't she understand that she and Christine were far more important than his job? She'd made a decision affecting him without his input. This time, it might have been a good choice, but he couldn't spend the rest of their lives with her charging ahead without stopping to include him.

Now he was truly depressed. He took a large bite of pie to console himself.

"Agent Booth, might I offer up a theory?" Gordon asked.

"All ears," Booth grumbled.

"When Temperance rejected you the first time, when she shattered your hopes, you reacted in anger. You refused to wait for her, despite knowing how slowly she allows others into her life. You couldn't see her side of the matter, her belief that she was not enough for you."

"How do you know all that?" Booth asked.

"Because Temperance came to see me shortly after her return from Maluku," he replied. "She didn't understand why she couldn't turn off the emotions you'd awakened, why you hadn't waited when she felt she'd clearly stated a need for time alone. She resented…oh, how'd she put it? Ah. She 'resented the manipulation of her life by neurotransmitters and hormones'."

"I told her I'd have to move on," Booth mumbled.

Gordon snorted, his disdain evident. "Yes, a full two minutes after she broke down in fear. What a grand gesture, Agent Booth. You told her love was something enduring then demonstrated its fleeting nature in the next breath. It was something that angered her a great deal. I bring this up because both of you walked away from that exchange with deep-seated anger and yet, here we are and you're together now."

"Because I love her. I love her more than any woman I've ever known."

"And you're the only man she's loved. You love in spite of great anger. Agent Booth, you're a man of faith, of destiny."

Booth nodded. "You could say that."

"Did you ever pause to consider that the reason that first proposal went so dreadfully and sent you both on separate journeys was, simply put, a matter of fate? That perhaps the universe understood that you needed to learn how to be angry with each other and still pull through it together?"

"Bones has pissed me off plenty of times before," Booth argued.

"But not like this," Gordon said. "Brennan's time in the islands gave her the ability to recognize what any of us could plainly see: you two were already a couple, minus the intimate relations. The rejection allowed you to, for perhaps the first time, feel great hurt and anger towards a woman and still love and want her. You love her now?"

"Yes, damn it!"

"And you're also hurt and angry," Gordon concluded. "You can compartmentalize that anger and keep it separate from the relationship itself. They can co-exist."

Booth finished his pie in silence, mulling Gordon's conclusions. Maybe there was a reason why Bones had rejected him that first night and again years later. Maybe he'd had an issue with anger – disappointment, really – and love. He was angry and hurt, but not once had he considered _not_ being with Bones upon her return.

But she did need to understand that his forgiveness was limited for such drastic betrayals of trust.

"This pie really is fantastic," he said at last, forcing a smile.

"I know that," Wyatt gloated. "Any other unofficial advice required?"

"Yeah." Booth sighed deeply. "Obviously I blew it at the Hoover that night. I can't blow it again. How do I talk to her about all of this without sending her off on a runaway trip to a distant archeological dig to hide?"

Gordon rose, collecting their plates from the table. "That incident taught you, more clearly than years of companionship, how slowly Temperance evolves when it comes to matters of the heart. She hides herself away when frightened. Patience is your friend. Speak slowly and gently. Remind her often that your story isn't ending. Most importantly, remember this: just because you've forgiven her doesn't mean that she has forgiven herself, or perhaps ever will. I imagine she believes she's lost you forever."

"Angela said that too. Why would she think that?"

"Because she has done to you what her parents did to her, of course. Look how long it took her to connect with her family again. Look at how wary she remains. She's likely projected that onto you."

Booth had always known that Bones would be sorry, but it broke him to think that she was out there right now, certain that she would come home to rejection. Her gifted page from her novel made more sense than ever before.

"Thanks, Gordon-Gordon. You can hide in this kitchen all you like, but you're still the man when it comes to making sense of things."

"You can repay me by letting me cater your eventual nuptials," he teased.

"Give her a few years to propose," Booth replied wryly.

"Her?"

"Hey, I learned my lesson. We move at her pace now."

Gordon laughed heartily. "Well played, Agent Booth. Come by when the dust settles for a meal."

With a little smile, Booth stepped outside and inhaled deeply. Now that he could identify the extra emotions, the path seemed a little clearer. He'd call Russ again, who was due back from vacation today. He'd demand a way to communicate with Bones, or find her. He'd gather intel and go find his family, bring them home as he'd vowed to do. He hit dial as he started the SUV, reaching quickly to kill the radio as the call was answered.

"Booth! I was about to call you. We just got back into civilization." In the background, he could hear Russ and Amy's kids chattering as Amy shushed them – or tried to.

"Russ, your sister's cleared and she hasn't come home. Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"Have you seen the papers? This isn't a set-up, man. I'd never do that to her. Please, she could be in danger out there," Booth pleaded.

"I'm serious, I don't know. Dad refused to tell me." Amy asked a muffled question and Russ asked her to wait. "Look, he didn't want me to be an accessory because of my history, if you know what I mean. I've been helping in the message tree, but that's all."

"Message tree?" Booth asked.

"Yeah," Russ said. "Look, give me a minute to pull over so I can have a little privacy."

Booth was finding that anger at Bones for fleeing seeping back into the forefront. She was in danger and he couldn't reach her? Couldn't find her? What the hell was Max thinking?

A car door opened and Russ sighed. "Okay, Booth. Max set up a chain for passing Tempe information on the case or relaying messages. I'm the middle-man: I received the stuff from D.C. and passed it on to this guy who claims his name is _Bruce_ _Springstone_, and he knows how to locate Max."

"Wait: who's been passing information about the case? No one's said anything to me."

"That's how Dad wanted it. He has a guy in D.C. who does the actual mail-out, but he gets the info from the contact…" Russ hesitated. "Don't blame the contact for not telling you. He insisted on protecting you from any sort of blame or tampering charges."

Booth grimaced. _I'm not going to like this_. "Alright Russ, who is it?"

"The shrink. Sweets, right? That's all I know about it. Dad gave him details and he's sent along two packages. If there's any way at all to reach them in an emergency besides starting a message chain, the shrink will have something. He probably doesn't even know he has it."

_Sweets?_ Booth was surprised. He'd assumed Hodgins was doling out the goods, playing dumb in front of Booth to preserve the secrecy of things. Sweets played by the book; for him to risk his job this way, there had to be a reason.

"Thanks, Russ. I'll call him, but just in case, can you send a message now?"

"As soon as I get home, Booth. One way or another, she'll know it's safe to come back."

Booth hung up, staring at his phone for several minutes. _Why did Max go to Sweets and not Hodgins? Sweets easily could have buckled under pressure!_ Nothing made sense anymore. More importantly, why hadn't Sweets said anything to him yet? He _knew_ how worried he was. Booth scrolled through his contacts and hit send, tapping the wheel as he pulled out into traffic.

"Lance Sweets."

"You've had a way to contact Bones this entire time and said _nothing_?"

"Um, that's… Booth, why would you say that?"

"Because Russ just told me you've been passing along case information via some chain," Booth replied. "So now you can tell me why you've left me panicked for the last few days."

"Okay, okay! Max came to me and asked me to hold an envelope the day they left. He said he was leaving town for a few days to check out some stuff on Pelant and wanted to make sure Dr. Brennan could reach him. He asked me to treat it like a matter of national security. I swear I didn't know they were going to run, Booth." The doctor sounded deeply remorseful, which softened Booth's rage. "When I opened the envelope, I found instructions on sending a message and another envelope, which I'm guessing I should open now, since Russ named me."

"Yeah, get on that."

"One sec." Paper tore and Sweets muttered under his breath as he examined the contents. "Damn it, he couldn't make this easy?"

"What's it say, Sweets?"

"I'm not sure. It's numbers… maybe GPS coordinates? Definitely not a phone number."

"Okay, where are you?"

"I'm at the Founding Fathers."

"Stay there," Booth ordered. "I'll come grab those numbers off you and head out after Bones."

"I'll come with you," Sweets said. "I just need to swing home for maybe twenty minutes to pack."

"Sweets, I don't need—"

"You have no idea what you're walking into," he interrupted. "What if Pelant or Shaw _has_ located them? You need back-up, and if you're going to rush in to save the day without informing the Bureau, at least take me."

The kid had a point. Rushing off into things alone had gotten both of them in trouble in the past. With a groan, he assented and hung up, struggling to focus on the road. The last thing he needed was a car accident keeping him from his family.

_I'm coming, Bones. I'll find you_.

* * *

**8715633 Seconds**

_Mankato, MN_

"Finally!" Max exclaimed as he turned down a familiar road. "That pile-up on the interstate was a nightmare!"

"It was a terrible accident," Temperance agreed. "By my estimations, it delayed us a good hour. Isn't it a bit late to arrive?"

"Nah, Maggie's family. She'll let us in and we'll just get ourselves situated. I know I want to sleep."

"Christine's fortunate to be able to fall asleep so easily in her car seat," Temperance mused.

"I told you to nap back there, Tempe."

"I couldn't. I closed my eyes but was unable to sleep."

Max made the turn down the extended driveway to Maggie's farm. "At least you spared me the talk radio for this drive. I don't know how you didn't pass out on the way to Tennessee."

"I must admit that music made for a better accompaniment, although the talk radio did help me blend in during my time in Tucson. Christine seems to prefer the music as well, especially vintage rock."

"Classic rock, honey. Vintage is for flea markets."

Brennan frowned. "There are markets for fleas?"

Max chuckled. "Never mind, honey. Look, there's a light still on. We're not disturbing her at all."

He parked their car alongside Maggie's pick-up truck, killing the lights and engine. Carefully, she unbuckled the car seat, not wanting to disturb Christine's rest. Brennan refused to take any chances with her daughter's well-being, and while rationally, she knew she was being overly fussy, she couldn't restrain her behavior.

"We'll get her tucked in and come back for the bags," Max said quietly.

Brennan followed her father to the front door, carefully balancing the seat to minimize sudden motion. He knocked twice, leaning against the door frame.

"Last stop for a while, Tempe."

"Last stop before home," she emphasized.

The door swung open quickly, revealing a flustered Genevieve Shaw. "I'm so glad to see you! We've all been terrified!"

Max frowned, stepping backwards. "Tempe, get in the car."

"Agent Shaw?"

"No, calm down! The warrant was lifted this afternoon," Shaw explained. "I've been here for two days, ever since Russ got the call from the hospital."

"Hospital? What's wrong? Where's Maggie?" Brennan asked.

"Pelant found out about her, fled his parole conditions. From what she was able to tell us, he was trying to find you. When she couldn't answer him, he…" Shaw sighed, shaking her head. "She'll be okay, but she was hurt badly."

"Where's Booth, then?" Max asked.

"Protecting the Jeffersonian staff. He said that he couldn't imagine you hiding with family of any degree, but he sent me in case. Come on, step inside. I'll make the calls for us to fly back to Washington."

With this, Shaw stepped aside, waving them in with her hand. Max glanced at Temperance, then moved cautiously indoors. Temperance followed, her brain racing with this knowledge. _Pelant got to Maggie. He knows about the farm. But the warrant's lifted… I can go home. Home_! A small smile crossed her lips at this thought. A flight from Minneapolis would only take a few hours. She could be home before sunrise.

Shaw stared at her cell phone with a grim expression. "God, I really need to upgrade! 3G doesn't cut it out here. I'll go wander the backyard _again_ and find a signal."

Brennan watched her father watching the agent, puzzled by his behavior. What was his problem? She was free to go home. _Maybe he's worried about Maggie. Or feels responsible_. Considering this, she, too, felt guilty for her cousin's injuries. Pelant had come after another loved one of hers. Would it ever stop?

"Tempe," her father whispered. "Go back to the car."

"What? Dad—"

"Baby, listen. There is no way in _hell_ Booth wouldn't have come here himself. Something's wrong. Get to the damn car," he hissed.

"But I know Shaw," she whispered, confused.

"I'm going to follow her. Please, just listen?"

Temperance nodded. Her father had reason to be paranoid around the FBI. She'd indulge him. Besides, they would soon be driving to the airport anyway. Christine in tow, she took the car keys and stepped out onto the front porch. Straining, she could hear Shaw talking on her phone, although the conversation was unintelligible.

Christine gurgled and she smiled. "Come on. Time to go home to Dad."

She made quick work of buckling Christine back in. Shutting the door, she glanced up and realized her father still hadn't returned to the front room. No doubt he was interrogating the novice agent or demanding to use her phone for contacting Booth. Perhaps she should intervene. There couldn't be many flights left to Washington tonight, and she refused to wait a moment longer to see Booth.

"Dad?"

No answer. Torn between Christine and her desire to hear, she took two steps forward and peered deeper into the house. No one. Now she was beginning to feel that something was amiss. _Drive_, her instincts said. _Run_. She turned back towards the vehicle, walking briskly to the driver's seat. _Maybe Pelant was out back_, she thought, a cold sensation coming over her. Jamming the key in the lock, she turned and pulled open the door.

"Ready to get going?" Shaw asked cheerfully.

Brennan spun around and hit the ground with a dull thud, having never seen the butt of the pistol flying towards her skull. Genevieve watched her hit the ground with a smirk then pulled her handcuffs from her waistband.

"Sorry, Dr. Brennan. Your flight has been delayed."

* * *

**_Okay, Booth, it's time for you and Sweets to take this into your own hands. What's that? You do it in chapter 25? Good. Because Shaw's a little... vicious these days...  
_**

**_Review, comment, ask questions... if you have a case-related "But how...?" there's more information coming in the final chapter but ask anyway. There are 3 more chapters to go... when do you want 'em?  
_**

**_Also make sure to subscribe to The Bites Of The Partnership Pie. I'll continue to post one-shots and prompt responses there. Feel free to suggest prompts, too! I can't promise I can tackle all of them, but I love the ideas.  
_**


	25. Chapter 25

**_AN: Shaw gone bad... I know. So hard to believe she's snapped. I'll let Dr. Sweets give his opinion on that. Speaking of, Booth and Sweets, please hurry kthxbi. This one... get the tissues. Maybe a glass of wine or a comfort beverage, because this would be the part of the episode where everything explodes. Action, action, action.  
_**

**_YT playlist for this story - Remove spaces etc. (hate the no link garbage) youtube dot com (slash)playlist(?)list = PL4421A69402C5A66E  
_**

**_Music: Crazy Life - Toad The Wet Sprocket; Last Scene of Struggling - Finger Eleven; Thoughts of a Dying Atheist - Muse  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**8774995 Seconds**

_Kasota, MN_

"Booth, maybe you should slow down."

"Maybe you should shut up, Sweets," Booth replied, making an abrupt lane change and not feeling sorry at all for the car honking at him.

Sweets sighed, sinking back in the seat of the SUV. "It was just a suggestion."

"Well if you can ignore my suggestion to drive overnight to Mankato and force me to wait for a morning flight, I can ignore yours," Booth argued.

"Look, you didn't want to invite in the local authorities. You even admitted that we'd get here faster if we waited out the night!" Sweets protested. "I didn't like waiting any more than you did. I'm worried about Dr. Brennan, too."

Booth sighed, drumming his fingers on the wheel. The doctor was technically right: it was a 17-hour drive from Washington, making their travel six hours longer as opposed to waiting for the early morning flight to Minneapolis. That didn't mean he had to like sitting on his ass, unable to do anything while a psycho and an FBI agent gone rogue were out there with homicidal intentions.

The radio station changed as Sweets fiddled with the scan buttons, pushing past the now static-filled rock station to a clearer frequency. He hooted as the DJ announced the upcoming artist, earning a look of disbelief from Booth.

"Not you too," Booth groaned.

"What? This is my jam!" Sweets exclaimed.

"Toad The Wet Sprocket? Mumblers of the 90s?" Booth jeered.

"This album's special," Sweets insisted. "Used to fall asleep to it."

Booth hesitated, then blurted out, "Bones likes them, too."

"Hmm. I wouldn't have pegged her as a fan of anything so mainstream. They have great songs." He chuckled softly. "Toad The Wet Sprocket: official band of battered foster system survivors."

"Guess so."

He glanced ahead to an upcoming sign, pleased to see the connection for the 14. They were only a few miles from Mankato now. Only a few miles from answers, and maybe only miles from his family. Booth knew it was stupid to imagine that Max would hide them on family property, but he'd directed them to Margaret Whitesell for a reason. Maybe they were at another home in Mankato, easily within reach.

_Too many maybes, Booth. Stick to the facts_.

"Ours is the next turn-off after this," Sweets announced.

"Got it."

From the periphery of his vision, he could see _that face_. The one Sweets always made before asking invasive _shrinky_ questions. And here he was, trapped in a car and dependent on him for navigation. _Damn it_!

"How are you doing?"

Booth frowned. "How do you think?"

"I mean, with the prospect of reunion with Dr. Brennan," Sweets clarified. "I imagine there are mixed feelings—"

"Look Sweets, I want to stay focused on the present. I want to find Bones and Christine and get them to safety. After that, we can worry about 'mixed feelings'. Got it?"

Sweets sighed. "Next left turn."

"Sure." As Booth signaled, he added, "I already talked it out with someone, okay? Long story short, I love Bones. We'll work it out."

"Good. You two complement each other in such a way that I'd hate for Pelant to ruin it."

Booth smiled unwittingly. "Thanks, Sweets."

Papers rustled as Sweets checked the GPS display. "We're definitely coming up on a side road. From there, we should find the turn for Margaret Whitesell's driveway."

Booth gripped the wheel tighter, mentally calculating his best approach. They couldn't take any chances with Pelant and Shaw on the run. They had to make allowances for every possible scenario, including a hostage situation at the farm. He prayed it wouldn't come to that, but no risk was worth endangering his family. He slowed down as they reached the final side road, studying their surroundings carefully. The Whitesell farm was one of only two residences on this lonely stretch, the other five miles further down the road. It was doubtful that the occupants had seen anything, but they could always investigate if no one was home.

A small white mailbox stood guard at the driveway's end, marked with the Whitesell name in the glossy stickers every hardware store he'd ever been inside sold for a couple bucks. The flag was down, but the door was barely closed. Booth pulled up beside the box, studying it. _Someone hasn't been collecting the mail_.

"What did we find out about Margaret's job?"

Sweets skimmed a page. "Waitress at a local diner, part-time farmer. Her boss said she's been on holidays for a couple days now."

"So why hasn't she picked up her mail?" Booth asked.

"She went away?" Even Sweets didn't believe in his guess.

_Something's wrong._ "You have your gun, Sweets?"

"Yeah, but I really hope we don't need it."

Booth sighed. "Me too. C'mon, Sweets. We're going in on foot."

Booth cut the engine and gingerly opened his door, grateful that Sweets followed suit. With a silent wave, he gestured for him to hug the tree line of the expansive drive. Booth took care to choose a path with minimal risk of noise, picking between fallen twigs, patches of gravel and other debris. Three hundred feet along, Booth spotted confirmation of his dread: a small grey car, parked within the trees on an angle.

"Crap."

"Someone's here," Sweets concurred quietly.

Booth circled the vehicle and peered inside, looking for clues to its owner. While it wasn't impossible to believe that Max would hide their vehicle from sight, Booth doubted the man would park in such a way that would slow down an escape. The wheels were lodged deep within mud. It would take serious acceleration and patience to pull back onto the road.

Footsteps in the distance sent Booth dropping to a crouch behind the car, Sweets slumping beside him. Their guns drawn, Booth peered around the front bumper, straining to see. Slender legs, bloodied and bare, moved up ahead in a staggering gait and he could hear a faint whimper. He fought the urge to charge ahead, craning for a glimpse of the mystery woman's face.

"You can't escape!" a voice yelled.

"Shaw?" Sweets murmured.

Booth wasn't certain, but it definitely was a feminine voice that very much reminded him of Genny. The bloodied woman made it into the wooded surroundings of the home, a flash of dark hair streaking by as her face came into view. _Margaret_. She fell to the ground, scrambled up and fell again as a _pop_ cut through the unnatural silence of the morning.

"We have to help her!" Sweets insisted.

"Slowly," Booth cautioned.

They edged forward, Booth scanning the perimeter in search of Shaw. A door slammed to their left, followed by the wail of a distraught infant. _Christine_! It was his nightmare come true: Shaw had found his family first, possibly with Pelant. With Margaret shot down, he knew that there would be no reasoning with his former colleague: this was worst case scenario in every possible way.

By the time they reached Margaret, she was oozing blood from her mouth and nose, her breathing shallow. Sweets moved to check her vitals as Booth studied the nearby farmhouse. Two vehicles were parked outside: a black truck matching the description of Margaret's vehicle and a large sedan with Ohio licence plates.

"She… Temp…" Margaret coughed violently, eyes lolling shut. "She…"

"Is Pelant here?" Booth asked. "Is there a man too?"

"No… Barn… Barn…"

It was Vincent all over again. Booth knew she wasn't going to make it. He gently pushed the hair from her face and reached for her hand.

"She'll pay for this, Margaret. I'm so sorry."

"Booth?" Sweets looked ill as he stared at the spreading pool of blood beneath her body. "Booth, should we?"

"Not enough time," he whispered.

Her hand flinched once in his, a faint squeeze before her body fell limp. _Time to be strong. Time to save your family_.

"Shaw's gone rogue," Booth whispered. "What's in her head?"

"Um… Okay. Pelant enjoys the game. He's like Howard Epps or Heather Taffet. Cat and mouse stuff. You're no good to him dead, and neither is Dr. Brennan. If Shaw's here alone, she's gone off the game plan. He'd be pissed."

"So what's her plan?"

Sweets winced. "Shaw has absolutely nothing to lose. She's lost her son, his father, her own father, her faith in the system… everything. I can't imagine her hurting Christine because of the loss of her son, but Brennan and Max… I don't know. Max is a criminal and Brennan bucked the system. Shaw also idolizes you, so her departure may seem like an offense against the system as well, with you being its ideal representative."

He recalled Shaw's comments as they watched the footage from Abilene, remembering her confusion at his lack of rage. Sweets made a hell of a lot of sense.

The baby cried out again and Booth felt his limbs twitching. _I have to get my daughter_. A door creaked open and shut, but it wasn't the front door. Remembering what Margaret had said, he understood his best strategy.

"You're right," he said. "Christine's in the house, safe for now. Bones and Max must be in the barn. Sweets, you have to get my daughter. Get Christine, get back to our car and call for back-up. EMS and uniforms."

"I can't let you go in alone," Sweets protested.

"If I'm worried about Christine, I can't focus on Shaw. Please, Sweets, listen to me. Get the baby and get back-up. If Shaw comes at you, drive away. _Do not hesitate_. Promise me."

"Okay, Booth."

"Promise, Sweets!"

"I promise," the doctor said solemnly. "I won't let Christine get hurt."

"Give me a few minutes to get near the barn and then move in. Let's make sure Shaw's away from the house."

Sweets nodded and Booth edged forward, cutting through the trees towards the parked vehicles. They seemed his best choice for cover for the transition behind the house. Grateful for his casual attire and the grip of his cross-trainers, he slid between the truck and car, glancing in all directions. On the ground near the driver's side door of the car, he detected spots of blood in the gravel and winced. _Bones_. He knew it instinctively. Gritting his teeth, he rounded the truck, studying the lay of the land. The barn was a good forty or fifty feet away, on a slight diagonal to the right of him. He couldn't see Shaw anywhere, but the distressed cow he heard suggested that something was wrong inside its red walls.

He made a quick break for the trees to his right, planning to hug them as he made for the barn. By the time he'd closed within twenty feet of the structure, he spotted Sweets making a hurried rush for the farmhouse proper. Christine would be safe soon.

"Don't you put your hands on my daughter, you little bitch!"

_Max_. His words were pained, indicating serious injury. Booth was running out of time. He rushed along the property, diving for cover near the barn's rear entrance as Shaw began to speak.

"And what are you going to do about it? You should be thanking me, Mr. Keenan. Your daughter has been nothing but trouble, hasn't she? Protecting her is a full-time job." Shaw stepped into view and Booth felt a chill run down his spine. "Did you really care to hide her for these last few months, or was it misplaced guilt from her childhood abandonment?"

"You're crazier than that hacker bastard," Max muttered from somewhere unseen.

"Maybe I am. But that will be our little secret, won't it?" Booth edged closer, concealing himself behind the ajar door. "By the time they find you, I'll just be the sole survivor of Pelant's latest murderous rampage. I can actually thank Ms. Whitesell for that hit to the face. Lends a little credibility, doesn't it?"

"Shaw, you don't have to do this…"

_Bones_. Equally pained, yet defiant. Shaw spun around, raising her pistol overhead. Booth winced as it made contact, his partner yowling in pain. There was no clear shot yet around the beams and equipment, and a miss gave her opportunity to kill Bones. He couldn't risk it. He'd have to move closer.

"You don't deserve him," Shaw berated her captive. "You took his _daughter_. You left him. I've heard the stories around the office, you know. Read the files, too. Dr. Sweets is very meticulous. Over and over, you break his heart. And now, now you've spat in the face of justice itself. He's one of the few who actually believe in the concept, someone with honour. How do you expect him to hold his head up in the Hoover?"

It hit him then why Shaw had gone off course: _she's completely fixated on me_. He'd long known that she had a bit of hero worship going on, perhaps a crush that he'd worked hard to never encourage. But this was… obsessive. Much deeper than what Sweets had predicted. It was also his ticket to move within range.

"I expect… Booth will leave me…" Bones was speaking now, her words shaky. "You're right…"

_No she isn't_!

Shaw began to pace, veering in and out of sight, and Booth knew that this was his only chance to move in. She was verging on that final move, her kill shots. He intentionally slammed past the rear door as he entered, ducking within a stall.

"Who's there?" Shaw yelled.

"You don't want to do this, Shaw," he called out.

"Booth," Bones said.

"I'll shoot her!" she threatened. "Toss your weapon to me or I'll do it!"

_Fine. I have another_, Booth thought. Stepping out of the stall with the gun over his head, he moved slowly towards her.

"Drop it!" she screamed.

"I will if you stop shouting and talk to me, Shaw," Booth stated calmly.

"Drop it," she growled.

Booth tossed the gun towards Shaw, memorizing where it fell. He edged forward into the centre of the barn, quickly surveying the situation. Max was on the ground several feet to his left, his wrists bound behind his back and both feet at alarming angles indicating severe fractures. To his right, a scant foot away from Shaw, lay Bones, handcuffed. A large wound to her forehead had scabbed over, with another fresh cut trickling blood beside it. Her glazed expression suggested possible drugging, although the head injuries could also be a factor.

But Shaw… She was no longer the woman he knew. Her disheveled hair and fierce eyes were those of a desperate killer. She would not hesitate to strike if pushed. This was bad. Very, very bad.

He kept his voice calm and low as he spoke. "Shaw, talk to me. What's going on?"

"Cleaning up. Taking out the trash," she said angrily. "The corruption… God, it sickens me. I got into the Bureau because I believed in this country. I believed in justice. But it's a lie, isn't it?"

"There's justice. I've helped close cases and send criminals to jail. I've helped people find answers." Booth shifted a half-step closer. "There's corruption, but we can fight it. We can clean it up, using the system."

Her gun remained fixed on Bones, but her eyes studied him. "Do you really believe in that? How can you be so blind, after all Pelant has shown us? Flynn was one of the worst in the bunch and yet Hacker handed him your job."

"And then Cam and I removed him, using the system," Booth reminded her. "Shaw, you're better than this. You're better than murder."

"Love is blind," she said wistfully. "You'll never see. You never see what she does. I have to bring you back to the side of justice."

"Tell me, then, " Booth demanded. "Tell me what I haven't seen. I'm listening now, Shaw."

His eyes flickered to Max, who nodded slightly. He understood the game he was playing out. He also remained ready, should Booth be able to kick that gun along the floor to his waiting hands.

"She lied in court! She purposely spun the evidence to incriminate herself so he'd walk!" Shaw jerked her head towards Max. "And then, because she's the mighty Dr. Temperance Brennan, she _also_ walked. They should have charged her next, but they didn't. She flouted the system, manipulated it. She's not good enough for you, Booth."

"She's right," Bones chimed in.

At this, Shaw spun, glaring at the woman. "Shut up! Just stop talking!"

Booth edged closer still. If he dove, he could probably secure his weapon and discharge it before Shaw could retaliate. Probably wasn't good enough. The piece strapped to his ankle was an awkward reach. He needed to draw her attention elsewhere.

"Shaw, you don't get it. No one is perfect. We all make mistakes," he said.

"It made sense to frame her for murder," Shaw muttered. "Considering she toyed with it before. I gave Christopher credit for that tactic. The irony was rich."

"Then why not come after me?" Booth asked.

"You've done nothing wrong. You're a man with integrity."

"God, does she ever shut up?" Max grumbled.

Shaw spun and kicked him in the ribs. "Do you?" she snapped.

In that brief moment, Booth shifted his personal pistol into the back of his jeans. It was time to take her down. But first, he needed to draw her gun away from Bones and Max.

"Shaw, who do you think told Bones to protect her father?" Booth asked. "I'm the one who agreed to spin the evidence as possibly fitting her. I'm the one who recommended no prosecution—"

"Booth, no!" Bones shouted.

"I love her. I'm the corrupt one of us, Shaw. Where's your wrath for me?" he pressed.

That did it: the gun was spun to face him, Shaw's face turning crimson. "You're lying!"

"Read the court transcripts. Ask Caroline. Ask Max. You've been gunning for the wrong partner," Booth said.

And with that, he launched himself at her, knocking her to the ground.

The struggle was fierce, the petite agent surprisingly strong and driven by adrenaline. Her head slammed into Booth's, stunning him briefly as she followed with a pistol strike to his temple. His leg flew out and tripped her as she rose, driving her face into the ground. Her knee connected with his groin and he grunted as a fire spread, leaving him gasping. He scrambled to his hands and knees, catching a knee to the kidney and crumpling.

He was going to fail her. He was failing Bones when she needed him most.

He reached for the gun in his waistband and rolled onto his back, aiming up as Shaw stood over him, finger on the trigger. _Fine. We'll go down together_.

"No!"

The scream echoed through the barn as two shots were fired and one woman fell on top of Booth, her blonde hair cascading over his shoulder. A second shot rang out from Booth's pistol, his arm wrapped around his partner as he aimed for and took out Shaw's kneecap. The agent yowled as he fired again, her pistol dislodging from her bleeding hand.

"Bones!" Booth shouted, tilting her face to his.

"Booth," she whispered.

"What did you do?" he whispered, rolling her gently off of him.

"Booth!" Max called out.

He slid his gun to Max, who aimed it at the wailing woman bleeding beside him. "Don't kill her if you don't have to."

"I don't plan to," he heard Max say as he crouched over Bones. "I can't wait to see what her hacker friend does to her behind bars."

"Bones? Stay awake, Bones," Booth pleaded.

The bullet had gone clear through, from her back through her ribs, on a strange angle. The handcuffs were off somehow, her bloodied wrists bare. He tore at his jacket, pressing it beneath her to staunch the entry wound. His hands pressed to her chest, sticky fluid seeping between his fingers.

"Booth… Chris…."

"Sweets has her. Stay with me, Bones. Help's coming."

She was so pale, so fragile. God, what had he done? How had he fucked this up? Distantly, he could hear approaching sirens and knew this was a good thing. But the blood… There was so much blood.

He heard Shaw whimper, heard Max's finger shift on the trigger. Heard him threaten to blow her head off. And still Bones bled, her eyes rolling back.

"What were you thinking?" he asked her. "Why'd you do that?"

"Couldn't…. Not again… Not you…" She gasped, her face scrunching in agony. "Booth… Love you…"

"I love you, too. Just stay awake, Bones. They're coming." He pressed harder, as if he could press her life back into her body and keep it there. Keep her.

_God, please don't do this. Please don't take her from me. Not like this_.

Footsteps approached. Shouting voices. Booth couldn't understand them. He couldn't understand this.

"Bones… Temperance, c_ome on_…"

Her eyes fell closed and Booth began to scream.

* * *

**_I'm just going to be over here in full body armor and under witness protection... Yeah, again: hate where my characters take me sometimes. But I love canon, people. Love it.  
_**

**_Dear Hart: don't follow my lead and kill off Maggie. Bring her back in a recurring capacity like Max. Yes. Do that.  
_**


	26. Chapter 26

**_AN: Look at the bright side: I made sure I was far, far ahead on this story before such a cruel cliffie, right? And now we can find out if Brennan's alive. This chapter was one of my favourites to write, creativity-wise.  
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**_YT playlist for this story - Remove spaces etc. (hate the no link garbage) youtube dot com (slash)playlist(?)list = PL4421A69402C5A66E  
_**

**_Music: Try, Try, Try - Smashing Pumpkins; A Single Explosion - Matthew Good  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**8985608 Seconds**

_She was in a desert._

_She vaguely recognized the landscape at first, but when Angela emerged from the shadow of a large rock formation, she was taken back eight years in time. Angela had lost her lover and they were seeking answers in the sweltering heat. _

_"Angela," she called out. "What's going on?"_

_"Role reversals, babe," Angela said. _

_"I don't know what that means."_

_Angela drew near and shook her head. "It means that you're the one suffering the loss now. You're the one taking bullets and scaring the crap out of people who love you."_

_She nodded thoughtfully, inhaling the dry air. It hadn't been a choice: she'd understood that Shaw would shoot Booth, would be precise and kill him. She also understood that she couldn't let him die. Her father's distraction had concealed the click of the cuffs as the bobby pin Maggie had dropped beside her paid off. With what little energy she had left, she threw herself in between them, covering his body with hers. Because she couldn't watch him suffer for her again. She couldn't let Christine grow up without her father. She would rather die herself. _

_"It's better like this," Brennan said._

_"Sweetie, you two need each other," Angela chastised her. "You're like a fairy tale, an epic story. Neither of you works without the other."_

_"It was him or me. I couldn't let him go."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because I've taken enough from him. Christine… He deserves to be with her."_

_Angela frowned. "What about you?"_

_"He won't want me. Not like that. I'm certain he'd be amicable enough about co-parenting, but I destroyed our trust. Isn't that what love is based upon, Ange?"_

_Angela seized her by the shoulders, shaking her lightly. "Bren, stop wallowing in self-pity. It doesn't become you. You're the brains in our duo, remember? And I promise you that even if this temporarily pulls you apart, you and Booth will be back together in the end."_

_"Is that a heart-touched promise?"_

_"Heartfelt, sweetie. And better: it's from my brain, too. Do the math. The universe will just keep throwing new chances at you two until you stay together."_

_Brennan smiled. "You're the best sister I could have in a friend."_

_"I know." Angela grinned. "Now, come back."_

_"I'm tired," Brennan murmured. "I will, just… Not yet..."_

_Angela frowned. "Okay. For now. But I will drag you back if I have to. I'm cut from tough Texan cloth. Deserts don't scare me and neither do you."_

Angela sat quietly beside him, holding Brennan's hand. It was an eerie scene: wires, machines, a battered face… It was where Angela was a couple of months ago. The prognosis was far better then.

"Why won't she come back?" Angela whispered.

"I don't know," Booth replied sadly. "But if she doesn't, I'll never forgive myself."

"Booth, it's not your fault."

"You weren't there, Angela." He buried his face in his hands in shame. "You weren't there."

Angela rose slowly, leaning down to kiss Brennan's cheek. With a squeeze of Booth's shoulder, she said, "I'm going to visit Max and Russ for a bit. I'll be back."

"Okay."

A lie. Nothing was okay.

* * *

_"Dr. B.!"_

_Brennan glanced up, finding that the desert had grown walls now. Or perhaps it wasn't a desert at all. A quarry? Hodgins strolled towards her, dressed in his lab coat and jeans. His hair was longer, reminding her of years past._

_"Hodgins, what are you doing here?"_

_"Came to shake some sense into you. Seems that you're not fighting the good fight these days." Hodgins glanced around, shuddering slightly. "You seriously had to bring us here?"_

_"I didn't bring us here. I just… woke here."_

_Hodgins rolled his eyes. "This is your head. You're creating the dreamscape. Although I guess this is fitting, since it's where I first realized it for certain."_

_"Realized what?" _

_Hodgins grinned. "That the disaster on that first case, it hadn't ruined things. You loved Booth. You just didn't know it yet."_

_Brennan pouted. "I didn't want to know it. There's a difference. I'm highly intelligent."_

_"Not when it comes to matters of the heart," Hodgins countered. "You've gotten better, though. A lot better. So have I. Guess us scientists have to work at it sometimes."_

_She walked in a large, lazy circle, studying the scenery. "The Gravedigger."_

_"Thank you for joining us! See why I'm unimpressed?"_

_"Sorry," she whispered. _

_"You need to wake up," Hodgins said quietly. "He's not doing well."_

_She remained silent, struggling not to cry. She wanted to come back, but not to reality. She wanted to come back to the night when Michael was born. The night she'd confessed her pregnancy and Booth's face had lit up. The night he'd brought her home with him and showered her body with kisses, professing love for her and their unborn progeny._

_"You ever feel like you saw something great that almost happened, but it didn't?" Hodgins asked. "That's what it's been like, watching you two. Over and over again. I'll shoot you myself if you repeat this conversation, but my inner romantic's fed up and ready to strangle Pelant, Shaw and whoever else is in his band of merry murderous men for separating you two again. Now stop sulking, fight back like the Dr. B. I know, and get back to the part of the story where you're doing the domestic with the damn G-Man."_

_She nodded, sinking to the ground. "I need to rest. But I will. I'll try."_

"Hey man, any change?"

Booth glanced up at Hodgins, shaking his head. "Nothing."

"She did take a bad hit. Maybe her body's just healing," he suggested.

Booth knew that he meant well, but it wasn't reassuring. It only amplified the guilt he felt for her injuries. _That bullet was for me_.

"Need anything? Coffee? Food?"

Booth sighed. "Maybe a coffee."

"Got it." Hodgins approached the bed and leaned down beside her. "Dr. B., we're all rooting for you. You're the strongest person I've ever met."

He left the room quickly, but not before Booth heard him choke up and sob.

* * *

_The sound of crashing made her wince in agony, her eyes squinting open in search of the source. A bowling alley. At least it was cooler than the desert, she supposed. _

_"Tempe?"_

_She spun around, finding her father waiting at the adjoining lane, seated in a wheelchair. She understood immediately why she had brought her father here._

_"Dad… I don't understand what's going on."_

_"Dreams, sweetie. That's all. You're working through a few things before waking up," he replied. "Although a place this noisy seems like a lousy choice for a conversation."_

_"This is where I realized it," Brennan said quietly. "Everything had changed, irrevocably."_

_"You and Booth?"_

_She nodded. "Obviously things changed before… Hannah and the aftermath, Vincent, sex—"_

_"Really don't need to know, honey," Max interrupted._

_"Men are such strangely prudish creatures," she replied, shaking her head. "Christine… I had lost track of the shot schedule. It was so unlike me, but with Booth unavailable and me no longer interested in anything with anyone else… I went to my doctor to get one, thinking I was due. She refused, said she had to run a test. I couldn't wait because we had to be here, so she promised to call me with the results."_

_Brennan glanced around the bowling alley, taking in the garish colours, the squeak of shoes and shouting teams in a verbal jousting match. The noise had drowned out her fears that day, until she'd had to use the bathroom. It was quieter there._

_"I was looking at Amber's computer, and noticed the date. It bothered me, but I couldn't articulate why. I went to the bathroom and the doctor had called. I dialed my voicemail and found myself staring at the tampon dispenser and I knew… I knew before the message played."_

_"You never let on," Max said._

_"I compartmentalize to survive," she said. "Although lately, the emotions simply come, whether I want them to or not. If I survive, I'm arranging an MRI. Something's wrong."_

_"Nothing's wrong," Max insisted, chuckling. "You're in love. That's all. We've all been there."_

_"Not me," she whispered. "Not before Booth. Christine changed everything. A part of me seemed to think that if we didn't work out as a couple, we could just…. Go back. I mean, we'd almost slept together years before. But a baby… You can't go back from being a parent."_

_That was why she was here: they'd had another moment where they couldn't go back. She'd left him at that church and taken Christine away for months. Brennan sunk into a chair beside her father, disheartened._

_"What do I do, Dad?"_

_"You do what you did last time: you trust that man's love for you and just talk to him," Max replied. "Tempe, he's always thought the sun shined out of your ass. He still does. Didn't you see his face when you took that bullet?"_

_"It's fuzzy… I don't know…"_

_Max frowned. "You know. Don't give me that crap."_

_"I need to sleep," she pleaded. "Can I sleep?"_

_"For a little while." _

_As he began to wheel away, she suddenly felt a sense of dread. "Are you dead? Am I dead?"_

_"No, I'm not. And neither are you, if you fight. Fight like a Brennan."_

"I fucked up, Max."

"Cut the pity crap, Booth," Max snapped. "There was no good way to play that bitch's game. Before Maggie bolted, she had the gun between Tempe's eyes and I was stuck watching, powerless to do anything more than shout at her."

Booth winced at the mental image, certain it would haunt his nightmares for years to come. At least she still had a chance. A strong one, the doctors insisted, if she woke up in the next twenty-four hours.

"Still can't believe that twit got the drop on me," Max grumbled. "Shot me up with something…"

"I'll put my money on a mild dose of curare," Booth commented absently.

Max spun around in the wheelchair, mindful of his legs with their twin casts. "Look Booth, if you're going to punish anyone, punish me, alright? I talked her into it."

Booth sighed, slumping in his chair. "I'm not leaving your daughter, Max."

"Good."

"I'm going to be with her until she's too senile to speak Squint at me anymore," Booth continued. "And if she ever changes her mind on the subject, I plan to marry her. End of discussion."

Max accepted his answer with a pained look at his daughter and a call to his nurse for an escort back down the hall.

* * *

_The ground was hot and her skin was sticky with sweat. Her chest ached, every breath painful as she pushed up to her feet. The bowling alley had fallen away to plain desert again, only helicopters and planes now roared overhead. Somehow, this didn't scare her. She blinked hard against the sun and stepped backwards in surprise. Booth was there now and her breath hitched at the sight of him. He was dressed in his Ranger uniform, which puzzled her, but he looked handsome as always. The look on his face troubled her: it was stern, fixated on some unseen point. _

_"Booth?"_

_He did not answer her, and she suddenly understood as he raised his gun and pointed it at her chest. She deserved this, she supposed. She'd hurt him deeply. It was a hurt she knew intimately and it wasn't the kind easily forgiven._

_"Do it if you want to. I betrayed you. I love you," she whispered._

_The gun lowered and Booth shook his head. With a sad sigh, he turned from her and walked away. She dropped to her knees, sobbing. A fire grew within her chest and she understood now the colloquialism "living hell". This was hers, and as the flames consumed her from the inside, she could only manage one final plea for mercy._

_"Booth…_"

_"Bones? Bones, I'm here."_

The desert dissolved and she was left with blackness. Did she really hear his voice? She was still on fire. She couldn't be alive and be on fire. A sharp pain in her side elicited a reflexive sobbing gasp and a flurry of motion around her terrified her. No, she wasn't dead. Shaw just wouldn't let her die, would she? There was no Booth, no mercy. She'd hallucinated him, hallucinated it all. She was going to die in this barn.

"Booth," she whimpered. "Sorry… sorry…" Something cool pressed to her forehead and she instinctively recoiled, flinching away. "Just let me die…"

"You're not allowed to die on me, Bones. Come on, open your eyes. I've got you."

It was the sweetest sound she'd ever heard.

Her eyes fluttered, but the light! So bright, so violent. Her head throbbed and she abandoned that course of action for the moment. A large, callused hand held hers and she knew it now: she was alive. She was alive and Booth had come for her.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones. What do you need?"

"Light… My pupils…"

A soft chuckle. "One moment."

His hand left hers and she mourned the loss of contact. The whiteness pushing through her squinted eyes grew dimmer though, and she slowly forced herself to open them. The ceiling came into view first, a bland shade of white paint with hints of previous spurts of blood. _Not very hygienic_, she noted absently. She blinked hard at an approaching figure, willing the face into focus, but it proved unnecessary. His lips met hers and she knew him by tactile recognition.

"Booth," she murmured.

His hand caressed her cheek and she sighed in relief. Whatever had happened, they were safe now. Booth would not be careless if danger was still present. She startled suddenly, acutely aware of the absence of her daughter.

"Christine!"

"She's fine. Sweets has her, and your dad's down the hall, flirting with nurses," Booth explained. "She's gotten so big," he added wistfully.

The levee broke: Temperance began to weep, spurred on further by the agony each sob brought to her chest. _I took his baby from him. His child. He'll never forgive that lost time_.

"Shh, Bones. What's wrong? Are you in pain? I'll get the doctor –"

"No," she wailed. "I don't…" She drew a deep breath, struggling to steady herself. "Don't need pity."

He looked genuinely confused by her words. "Pity? I don't understand."

"I know you are a kind man, but… but you don't have any duty to care for me. Not after… not after I…"

She couldn't say it aloud. Dared not speak of it. That would be the end of them, wouldn't it?

Booth settled into the chair beside her, taking her hand in his. She winced at the realization that it might be the last time he would hold her hand this way. She'd always prided herself on self-sufficiency, but now… Now, she needed someone.

"Gordon-Gordon warned me about this," Booth said quietly.

"He warned you that I would hurt you?"

"No, Bones. Not that. He…" His brow furrowed as he sat silently, deep in thought. "Okay, I know how to help you understand. Bear with me. What do you remember?"

It all came flooding back_. Over a hundred days without you. Running and worrying and longing for you, for home. Shaw drugging my father and breaking his ankles. My cousin Maggie running and a gun shot. Shaw confirming what I already knew: you could never love someone who stole your child. Refusing to watch you die_. Oh she remembered it all. Remembered him begging her not to sleep. Remembered the shots that he'd fired at Shaw.

"Everything." It was a far more succinct answer.

"Since you'll undoubtedly ask, the doctors wrote down your injuries for me." He pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his jeans and recited, "Hairline fracture of the left ulna, fractures to the sixth and seventh vertebrosternal ribs?" He shook his head. "Head trauma and concussion, although no permanent damage was predicted. Organs barely grazed, minor trauma."

"That all sounds in accordance with the pain I feel," she said. "But Gordon—"

"I'm getting there. I just wanted to get that out of the way first, because the important things come now."

She watched as he shifted his chair closer, his eyes fixed on hers. She wanted to look away, didn't want to see the disappointment and rejection, but sensed that he wouldn't allow it.

"I love you," he said, and meant it. "Hear that, Bones. I love you so damn much. I've loved you for years, and will always love you. Repeat that back to me."

"Booth, I—"

"Indulge me, please?"

She bit her lip, her voice scarcely a squeak. "You love me."

"I do. I'm not going to lie to you and say I wasn't devastated when you drove away with Christine. I'm not going to say that I'm not angry at you. But I can see that you're angry at yourself, which means we have a common ground. That's all we've ever needed, Bones. We solve cases with very different methods, but we share a love of truth and justice. Are you following me so far?"

Brennan nodded, finding it difficult to breathe. Her monitors beeped louder and Booth winced.

"Repeat it again, Bones: I love you."

"You…" Her breath hitched and she silently cursed her ribs. "You love me."

"I do. Bones, there's plenty of time for us to talk everything out. I'm not worried about that right now. All I care about is you getting well, leaving this hospital and coming back to D.C. with me. I'm not worried because as much as you say I've taught you, I've learned just as much from you. I can compartmentalize. I can take that anger and hurt that we'll eventually talk through and shove it in a box in my head. Right now, I just want to take care of the woman I've waited my whole life for."

A tear slid down her cheek as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her own. "I don't deserve you," she mumbled.

"Yes, you do," he insisted. "Let me make this easy for you. I already forgive you. I forgave you on the steps of the church, because I knew you had the best intentions. What did I just say?"

"But I took your daughter away!" Temperance protested loudly, her hand flying to her taped ribs.

"To save her life, and yours," Booth answered. "What did I say, Bones?"

"You… Do you? Truly?"

"I forgive you. Do you still love me?"

She nodded vigorously. "Perhaps more than when I left."

Brushing a damp lock of hair from her cheek, Booth continued, "Good. So, here's how our week will go. You will rest and heal, and probably get harassed into making a statement. I will curse and swear at the cops over it. We will head home with our daughter. We'll cuddle her, play with her and tuck her into bed. You and I will sit and have a talk and clear out all of the hurt and frustration. We'll likely both raise our voices because we're stubborn and wake Christine, at which point I'll grumble and take care of her. We'll finish that talk, likely need another one or two down the line, but postpone them out of exhaustion. I will carry you upstairs to our bed, where I will finally sleep peacefully, knowing you're in my arms. Well okay, I'll probably cop a feel off you, but only to show you how much you're loved."

"That sounds like more of a biological urge than an emotional one," she weakly quipped.

Her heart fluttered as he smiled that crooked half-smile he only ever gave her. "See? Back to normal already! Bones and Booth, reunited."

"So…" She mulled his words over carefully, her headache making concentration difficult. "We are still a family?"

"Yep. You're stuck with me, so get used to it."

"But… But what did Gordon-Gordon warn you about?" she asked, still puzzled by that statement.

Booth grinned. "He said to be patient in getting it through your head that I love you and forgive you. He also suggested that we have the night outside the Hoover to thank for it."

"The gamble?"

"Apparently, it taught us that we can love and be hurt, and move through it." Booth shrugged. "He served that bit of psychology up with amazing pie, so I didn't argue."

Brennan nodded. "I accept his premise."

"Wait, what?"

"Without the experience of the ensuing hurt and confusion, only for us to come together in a monogamous romantic relationship, I likely wouldn't believe your words of forgiveness at all," she elaborated. "But that incident and its eventual resolution provide evidence of the possibility of deep hurt and enduring love."

She shifted on the bed and groaned before she could stop herself, which prompted Booth to rise from the chair. "And that, Bones, is my evidence that you're in a hell of a lot of pain and need drugs, so I'm going to demand them."

"Wait!"

"You need medication," he insisted gently. "To rest."

"But I'm afraid," she confessed anxiously.

"Of narcotics? They're pretty awesome, from my experience," Booth said.

"No, of sleeping… And waking up and finding it's just a pillow in a dark room and this won't be real, because how could it be? How could you forgive me so readily?" The tears were back and she grew furious at their unwanted presence. "I can't live that nightmare, Booth."

He walked back to her side, lifting her hand and pressing it to his heart. "I'm real. I'm here. And if you fall asleep, I will be here with you, waiting for your beautiful eyes to open again. I could even try and squeeze in there, if you like."

"I don't believe the dimensions are conducive to that, given the injuries sustained to my ribs, but perhaps we could demand a second bed and improvise."

"Done." He reached for the call button, jamming the button with his free hand. As the speaker crackled to life, he informed the nurse that she was awake and in pain before turning back to her.

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life," she murmured.

"I love you. I'm angry. I forgive you and I'm not going anywhere," he affirmed.

"I believe you. I love you, too."

Even as the attending physician injected a painkiller into her IV line, she was cognizant of these statements, repeating in her mind. All of these things were true.

* * *

**_All better now? Did we all catch the references to dialogue and past episodes?  
_**

**_One more long, long chapter ahead... because I did start out planning to get her home and back to work and well, we're not quite there. Plus, we need a little more case wrap-up and one last visit with a few of our supporting cast members...  
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	27. Chapter 27

**_AN: Last chapter! Stick around for the end notes, please!  
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**_Special shout-out right here though to Megwill. Before I began this story, I'd noticed something and thought about bringing it into this story. I then shelved it. A discussion we had recently changed my mind...  
_**

**_YT playlist for this story - Remove spaces etc. (hate the no link garbage) youtube dot com (slash)playlist(?)list = PL4421A69402C5A66E  
_**

**_Music: The Scientist - Coldplay; Miles - Christina Perri; Drops of Jupiter - Train  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight. _  
**

* * *

**9849598 Seconds**

"Are you okay, Bones?"

"I'm perfectly capable of walking Booth, albeit slowly," Brennan replied.

"I'm sorry. It's just—"

"It's just that you are protective because you know that you can't always protect me and Christine. Thus, you feel that you must be overprotective to reassure your alpha male instincts," she concluded. "You have explained this to me before, and while it's tiresome, I understand it is an expression of love and will indulge your persistent delusion."

Booth unlocked their front door, shaking his head. "There you go, taking all the romance out of things."

He held the door open for her, setting Christine's car seat down by the door. Their daughter was fast asleep, having conked out on the drive home from Dulles. He assumed that the extended drives during their absence had something to do with that, although he wouldn't say it aloud.

He sensed there were a lot of things that neither of them would speak of, but would instead accept as the past.

The service this morning for Maggie before their flight out was one example. He'd tried to talk it out with Bones, but she'd shut up tightly, silently crying for the entire drive to St. Paul International. Max had confided in him that the cousins had grown close during their time together. She'd had her heart set on Maggie moving to Washington to start a new career.

He could never thank her enough for sacrificing her life to save his family. She would remain in his prayers each week until his last breath.

"The living room looks mostly the same," he heard her comment. "The flooring near the stairs is new."

Booth nodded. "Yeah. The upstairs had to be completely overhauled after… after Angela."

"I trust you hired Wendell? He needs the financial compensation."

He smiled. "Of course. I also didn't trust anyone else in the house."

Brennan made her way gingerly to the couch, settling into the soft cushions with a sigh. Her ulna fracture was healing nicely but the cast itched. Her ribs were still a source of aggravation, although they had vastly improved during her stay at the hospital. She made a point of demonstrating to Booth that it was possible to be an obedient patient when medically necessary.

Secretly, she had not wanted to return home early. Home meant the discussion Booth had promised, and said discussion would likely end in pain for her heart, because there was no way he could truly forgive her actions. Now that she was home, her heart rate accelerated. She could no longer hide from Booth's anger, and with her father choosing to go home and recover with Russ and Amy, they had no buffer, no distractions. They'd have to talk.

"I'll go tuck Christine in," Booth said. "I'll be right back."

"Okay."

She sat silently, mulling her best course of action. What would be logical? What would be appropriate within the construction called love? She didn't know. This was not her domain; it was Booth's. Her hand pressed to the bandage on her chest, cupping it as if to offer it up as her penance. Her blood, a sacrifice for her crimes.

"Hey, are you okay? Do you need your pills?"

Brennan shook her head. "No, I'm not in much pain. I do feel exerted in spite of minimal physical activity."

"It's normal," he reassured her. "Give it another week."

He sat down next to her, but did not touch her. Brennan knew this to be a bad sign. She steeled herself mentally, preparing for his anger. She would listen to him because it was entirely justified. To not listen would be disrespectful and only compound the hurt she'd inflicted.

"Bones…" Booth sighed. "God, I don't want to do this."

"You have to," she replied quietly.

_Even now, he's too kind to banish me from his life_.

"You really hurt me," he said at last. "You gutted me when you left."

She understood this to be metaphorical. She had grown more astute with such colloquialisms, had even experienced them herself. She had felt gutted that first night in the motel room, curled up next to Christine with her newly-dyed hair.

"I made a choice based in logic," she said. "Pelant had us in a corner, and I couldn't bear for anything to happen to Christine. I knew if anything happened to me during incarceration, you would blame yourself and be hurt. I accepted my father's proposition and left."

"You should have told me," he said.

"But it would have compromised your principles as an FBI agent and jeopardized your career, and you've worked so hard—"

"Screw the goddamn job, Bones!" he shouted, and she flinched. "It wasn't your decision to make! We're supposed to be a family. We operate as a unit, a partnership. You had no right to take our daughter and disappear without warning."

"I understand how awful my choice was," she agreed. "But I really was trying to do the best thing for everyone…"

Booth rose to his feet, pacing as he often did when frustrated. She averted her gaze, unable to maintain her calm otherwise. Her emotional lability had been severely affected by the pain medication she'd been prescribed, and she resented it.

"You didn't trust me, Bones," he said. "You didn't include me. Again. In the end, I know it was the safest course of action. There were two corrupt FBI agents under Pelant's thumb and I have no doubt that something terrible would have happened to you behind bars. But I can't help but think that you're never going to stop leaving me out of the big decisions. I don't know how I'm supposed to trust you, and that hurts."

"Relationships don't operate without trust," she said.

"No, they don't."

"What would have been the right course of action?" She finally glanced up, giving in to the urge to cry. "I'm so lost, Booth. Tell me."

"Telling me you were going to run," he replied. "At least letting me say goodbye."

"I… tried to… I'm sorry."

He'd forgiven her actions, but the trust… Trust was a far more complex matter. She knew that all too well from her childhood. How cyclical life could be: the pain done to her was the pain she'd now created, and would now pay a terrible price for.

"You no longer trust me," she concluded. "Relationships do not function without trust." She rose to her feet, ignoring the pain of movement. "I will go pack a bag. If you could call Angela—"

"Wait, what?"

"It's okay, Booth. I understand why you can no longer be with me. I'm sorry that I've failed you." She moved towards the stairs, mentally preparing a list of necessities for the immediate future.

"Damn it, Bones! I never said that." He cut in front of her, eyes flashing. "I thought I explained this to you in the hospital."

"You were kind to me, kinder than I deserved…"

"Don't you _want_ to be with me?"

His voice was so small, his expression pained. Wasn't this the conclusion he was coming to with his explanations? They no longer had trust, ergo, there was no relationship. But she wanted to be with him, desperately. Nothing made sense. Her silent tears broke into uncontrollable sobbing and his arms closed around her, his head resting on hers as it had so many times before.

"Please don't cry," he whispered. "I love you. I don't understand what you want, Bones."

"You." It was all she could manage between gasps.

"You have me. Forever."

"Forever is scientifically impossible," she mumbled into his chest.

"Metaphor. If you want to be with me, why are you talking about packing bags?"

She pulled back, shaking her head. "I'm confused. If relationships need trust, and you don't trust me, you must no longer be able to be in a relationship with me. But you're mad at me for accepting this painful conclusion."

"God, you're frustrating sometimes," he complained. "There are different kinds of trust, Bones. Levels of it. There's trust that can be rebuilt and trust that can never be fixed once you break it. You following me?"

"I-I think so."

Booth's hand found her cheek, gently holding it as he often did when they made love. "I trust you with my life. I trust that you love me, and never intended to hurt me. Those are the big ones. The ones you can't rebuild. You've broken my trust in you including me in all aspects of life that affect us both, but I know it's something you struggle with. I may be a little paranoid for a while when you don't call back, or when you stay late without telling me, but we can fix that. We're a little broken, but we can heal."

"Like bones," she said.

"Like a broken bone," he agreed. "So unless you want to break up with me, we're staying together. And if you want to go, I'll put up a hell of a fight for you."

"I don't want to go. I love you, Booth."

His lips found hers, a gentle kiss that warmed her entire body. "Then it's settled," he whispered. "Let's go to bed."

"It's rather early."

"So?"

Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her to his chest. "Booth!" she protested. "You'll hurt your back!"

"No, I won't. You've lost a lot of weight that I intend to put back on you," he replied, making his way up the stairs.

"It was hard to eat," she admitted. "Hard to sleep."

"I know exactly what you mean."

He sat her down carefully at the bedroom door, nervous about her reactions to their modified space. While the furniture remained the same, they'd lost artwork, photos, and a few small knick-knacks. The paint was a shade brighter, the carpet a little darker.

"It seems strangely appropriate that things aren't the same," she said at last.

"How so?"

She forced a smile. "Our foundation was rocked – literally. Our house reflects our lives. The bones have healed. It survives."

Booth grinned. "I like that explanation. Come on, let's get some rest."

He undressed quickly, pausing to help her lift off her shirt. She flushed slightly, suddenly shy, which made him chuckle. Her pout was met with a kiss, which seemed like a fair apology. After some adjustment, she was able to manage a comfortable position half-twisted to her right, her back leaning against his chest.

"I missed you," he murmured in her ear.

"I missed you."

He kissed her neck lightly, his arm draped over her abdomen, avoiding her healing wound. There had been several discussions about her decision to place herself in harm's way. Booth was adamant she never do it again, to which she'd countered that he could not do it again for her. They'd settled on a stalemate, neither willing to compromise.

"Pelant's still out there."

She hadn't intended to bring it up, but it had been her nightly terror for so long, it had become a mental reflex.

"I know. He isn't getting anywhere near my family."

"But—"

"No, Bones. He won't. I don't care if we have to quit our jobs and disappear off the grid forever. I will protect you," he insisted.

"I'll protect you, Booth."

His fingertips grazed the edges of her bandage, his breath hitching slightly. Her hand covered his, fingers entwining.

"I know you will," he whispered.

* * *

**9900008 Seconds**

She awoke to a loud bang downstairs, followed by Booth cursing. Instinctively, she reached for her nightstand, furious as she remembered where her gun was: her purse, downstairs. She'd dropped her defenses and now Booth was in trouble.

Gingerly, she crept down the hall, first checking in on Christine. She was fast asleep, curled around her elephant with a contended smile. Brennan slid along the wall as she approached the stairs, calculating her best strategy for helping Booth. Another bang drew a whimper from her pursed lips as she peered down the steps. And then, she smelled it:

Bacon.

Booth was cooking breakfast. A perfectly normal and common routine, one that frequently resulted in banging pots and pans and a good deal of mess. Moving as fast as her ribs permitted, she padded into the kitchen, finding him fussing over an omelet.

"Some things haven't changed," she remarked sleepily.

"Crap Bones, did I wake you?" Booth looked very disappointed to see her, which was troublesome until he explained, "I was trying to bring you breakfast in bed."

"That's sweet of you, although perhaps you should avoid noisy surprises for a while. I heard a bang and thought…"

He nodded in understanding. "I know. I'm sorry, I'll keep that in mind. I think we'll both be on edge for a while."

He turned back to the eggs cooking on the stove and she turned to the living room, taking a seat on the couch. Harder chairs were difficult right now, and she wanted to enjoy her breakfast. She also wanted to retrieve her purse from the table, which she did with a slight hiss of pain as she bent forward.

"Do you need something for the pain today?"

_Sniper senses_. She shook her head. "No Booth, I just need to avoid bending in certain ways."

She watched him dish out her omelet with a soft smile on her lips. Booth was the best cook of all her previous male companions. His repertoire was small, but he excelled at what he knew. His breakfasts were her personal favourite, although she playfully denied it was because he tended to cook naked or in minimal clothing. Today, for instance, he'd opted to cook in his boxers, and the view was very pleasant as he brought their plates over.

"For you," he announced, handing her a plate.

Omelet, fresh fruit, toast with light butter. He knew her so well.

"Thank you. Although I'm puzzled as to how you had the eggs to cook with."

"Angela."

She smiled. "Of course."

She took several bites, unable to resist the delicious scent. She had a mission today, but her appetite had returned suddenly and with violent force. Spearing a chunk of pineapple, she glanced across the table at Booth, who was devouring his own meal as if he'd not seen bacon for a decade. She knew he'd stayed the entire time with Ange and Hodgins, but with Angela incapacitated, she sensed there'd been a lot of take-out in the last few months.

"Booth?"

"Everything okay? I didn't overcook it, did I?"

"No, it's perfect. It's always perfect."

Booth grinned. "Not the time I burned it to a crisp."

"Well, in your defense, I did intentionally sit on the counter without undergarments—"

"So you finally admit you did it on purpose!" Booth cried triumphantly. "I knew it!"

She laughed. "You know me."

"And you know me, Bones." He grabbed another slice of bacon, popping it into his mouth whole.

"I have been derailed from my intended discussion," she said. "I was thinking of what you said last night about trust, and how it can be like a bone healing from a fracture."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. What's going on behind those blues of yours?"

She felt herself flush as she sat her plate down and reached into her purse. "I know it's not the same type of trust, but I thought I could extend some things to you. Like a cast. I'd meant to, anyway. When I was gone, I promised myself…"

He was intrigued, she could sense, as she pulled her wallet from her purse. She pulled several cards out of the way – a blend of false ID and her true ID, provided by a mystery courier in Minneapolis – and finally extracted a well-worn piece of paper.

"I've had this for almost six years," she began. "I should have delivered it years ago, but I wasn't strong then."

"You were impervious," Booth chimed in, remembering her analogy.

"And terrified of this," she added, tapping the square on her knee. "Because in a raw moment, I'd allowed myself true honesty. Dad told me to ditch everything when we first met up, but this… I couldn't."

She unfolded the square with trembling hands, smoothing it out gently on her leg before extending it to him. Booth examined the page, scanning the message and looking up in confusion.

"When The Gravedigger had us, Hodgins… He wrote a note to Angela. When he asked me if I had a note to write…"

"_Booth,_" he began reading aloud. "_Don't blame yourself for what's happened. I know you tried harder than anyone else could as you are the best at your job. Take care of Angela. Her heart is like yours and I'm certain she'll be very distressed._" He paused here, overcome by emotion. "Bones…"

"_You're not Andy Lister, Booth. You're better_," she recited from memory. "And you are. You truly are. I'm so sorry I didn't give it to you then, or anytime sooner. I'd forgotten it after my return from Maluku."

He moved to sit beside her, kissing her lightly. "Thank you. I know this was hard for you to share."

She shook her head. "Not as hard as in the past. In experiencing life without you, I understand now that I need you in my life. Every part of my life."

He kissed her harder and she pulled on him, deepening the kiss in spite of her protesting side. They would be okay. They would heal the bones of their relationship. All they needed was time and the right supports on all sides.

"I have something else," she murmured as he pulled away.

"How many things are you hiding in that bag of tricks?" he asked. "Did you buy that bag from Mary Poppins?"

"I don't know what that means."

Booth rolled his eyes. "We're DVD shopping today."

She smiled and tugged her MP3 player from the purse. Scrolling through her tracks, she found what she was looking for. She handed him the ear buds and smiled.

"This is what got us through," she said. "Christine and I both."

He popped in a single ear bud, gesturing for her to hit play. As his own voice kicked in, his eyes widened.

"You recorded this? You were asleep!"

"I woke up. I'm very glad I did. It was all I had."

She could tell he'd reached the conversation with his daughter when he began to tear up. She remained silent, allowing him to appreciate just what he meant to her. To both of them.

"Christine, she heard this?"

"At least five times each day," Brennan replied. "It was comforting to us."

"I was so worried I'd be a stranger to her," he admitted. "But she came right to me, no hesitation. I thought it was luck, or instinct, but it was you."

Now it was she who was on the verge of tears. "No, it was you. Your voice. Your love for us."

She fell into his embrace, as she had so many times throughout the years. Her head tucked beneath his chin, listening for his breathing, his heartbeat. Signs of life. _Home_.

"We're going to be fine, Bones," his whispered. "I love you."

"I love you."

In her mind, she felt the bones set into place, properly aligned. _And now, we heal. With time_.

* * *

**10872000 Seconds**

The knock on the door startled her more than she cared to admit. Instinctively, she glanced around, looking for Booth. She was relieved when he came down the stairs, Christine in his arms.

"She's hungry, Mom," he said gently. "But that should wait a few minutes."

"The door—"

"It's okay. I'm expecting our visitor."

Booth opened the door, his voice strangely cheerful. "Hacker! Nice of you to stop by."

"Andrew?" she called out, bouncing Christine lightly on her knee.

The two men rounded the corner into the living room and she smiled warmly. Booth had told her that Hacker was one of the few who'd stood by them during the summer months, working to clear her name. She hoped this would end Booth's irrational moments of jealousy where his boss was concerned, but she ultimately doubted it. Booth was too much of an alpha male.

"Hello, Temperance. You're looking well."

"Thank you. I'm feeling much more like myself again."

She glanced coyly at Booth, who grinned. She'd woken up that first morning in their home to Angela knocking on the door, hair dye at the ready. Booth apparently hated the blonde as much as she did, and they quickly shifted her back to a deep auburn. Her hair remained shorter than she'd been keeping it before the summer, but Booth enjoyed the extra bounce to it. Perhaps she'd keep it this length for a while longer.

He'd also gone to work immediately on bringing her weight back to her customary range, procuring indulgent desserts and hearty pasta dishes. Her clothes no longer slid off her hips, although she remained a few pounds lighter than before her pregnancy. Booth had blamed it on nerves, to which she'd pointed out that lipids and nerves were two very different things. He hadn't taken that well.

"Good to hear it!" Andrew glanced at Booth anxiously. "Should we?"

"Of course. Bones and I don't keep secrets from each other."

Andrew nodded. "Shaw finally started talking, looking to cut a deal. We're getting a greater sense of how everything unfolded now."

"Was Flynn involved?" Booth asked.

"Blackmailed into it with the CI files and other shit in his personal emails that makes me angry to speak of, so I'll leave it at that. She says he helped plant the Johannsen body and worked to keep the Jeffersonian off Pelant's scent. Made sure none of the random spot checks during Pelant's house arrest occurred when he was off taking a walk. He also ran a program that hijacked the orders for the Krane body from his own laptop."

"And Shaw?" Brennan asked.

"Lured away and helped kill Ethan Sawyer. She made sure the bomb was overlooked during the search warrant execution as well. She planted the hair evidence in your car and assisted with Agent Flynn's murder, and that of her sister. Her intention was to lose the ballistics evidence for Flynn and Alleyne if need be." Hacker shook his head. "Still can't believe she was involved in all of this."

"I think it caught all of us off guard, sir," Booth remarked sadly.

"I do come with happier news, however," he continued. "I just came from a meeting with Cullen and Internal Affairs regarding your restrictions with the Jeffersonian."

"Restrictions?" Brennan looked to Booth, upset. "You never spoke of anything."

"That's because it wasn't set in stone," Booth replied. "What's the word, Hacker?"

"If Booth isn't our liaison, I will withdraw my services from the FBI," Brennan stated firmly. "I am very well off and don't need to even work at the Jeffersonian. Give my status as a donor—"

"Temperance, please relax. Everything's fine. The X-Files are re-opened and Mulder and Scully are back in business."

Booth chuckled. "Nice job, Skinner!"

"I do my best."

Brennan frowned. "I don't know what that means, but I assume we're still partners?"

"You're kidding! Bones, didn't I tell you to watch _The X-Files_ years ago?"

"Booth, that was when I didn't have a television," she protested.

Booth groaned. "This woman spent over a year without a TV, Hacker. You believe that?"

"No comment," Andrew replied, smirking.

"There are plenty of things to do aside from watching television," Brennan insisted. "Writing, reading, engaging in sexual—"

"Bones!"

She grinned. "I'm certain that Andrew is well aware of such activities, Booth. We have a child. It's a given step in the procreation process."

"Thanks for stopping by, Hacker," Booth said abruptly. "Bones is medicated and needs her rest."

"I haven't taken anything in days!" she rebutted.

Andrew smiled, heading for the door. "It's good to have you two back. You're reinstated effective immediately."

"I am not on any medication!" Brennan repeated as Christine laughed.

"Sure Bones!" Booth saw Hacker out, chuckling to himself as he returned to an indignant partner and unusually amused daughter.

"That wasn't funny."

"Christine thinks so."

"Obviously, she gets her sense of humor from you."

"Can't you just be happy that we're back to work tomorrow?" Booth pleaded.

"No!"

He grinned as she unbuttoned her blouse and prepared to nurse their hungry child. It was so good to be home again.

* * *

**10908000 Seconds**

"This seems unusually late to be permitted a visit," Brennan noted.

"Yeah, Sweets is kinda bending the rules for us."

They approached the visitor checkpoint and dutifully began removing metal objects, their cell phones and other prohibited items. The attending guard ran the wand over both of them and, duly satisfied that they weren't planning to facilitate a third escape, buzzed them into the corridor outside the visitation room. Booth hung back, allowing his partner the privilege of entering first. Her enormous grin was worth the late drive.

"Zack!"

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth," he greeted them. "It's good to see both of you."

"Am I allowed to hug him?" she asked.

"Technically, no. Save it for the end," Booth advised quietly.

They took their seats across from him, Brennan grinning ear to ear.

"I hear that I have you to thank for a lot of the evidence that cleared my name," she said.

"It was a collaborative effort, as all of our past casework together was. However, I did manage to be the King of the Lab again. I enjoyed the challenge. It's boring in here when it comes to intellectual materials." Zack's face fell slightly. "I also felt it was a means of atoning for the disappointment I caused with my actions."

"Oh, Zack… You didn't need to feel obligated to do anything," Brennan gently chided.

"You were a wonderful supervisor, mentor and friend, Dr. Brennan. I betrayed your core teachings on the value of human life, and that is unacceptable to me," Zack explained.

"I have always felt that I failed you," she confessed. "That I somehow didn't make you feel a part of our team, that you didn't know how dearly I valued your friendship. I admittedly wasn't very good with expressing emotion until recently. I still miss your presence at the lab."

Booth remained quiet, allowing the conversation to unfold. He knew that Bones needed this reconnection. It hurt him to remember their conversation as the team packed Zack's belongings. She hadn't appreciated that she'd given Zack the greatest gift, not even after Booth pointed it out. Vincent had helped heal the loss of that workplace younger brother, only to be ripped from her as well. She needed Zack in her life.

"You didn't fail me," Zack insisted. "I'm working towards a full recovery now. Dr. Sweets has assured me that I won't be moved to prison in spite of lying about my role in the death of the lobbyist."

"Booth told me about that. It never made sense to me how you could take a life directly." She smiled warmly at her former protégé. "I look forward to you healing, Zack."

"I know I can never work with the Jeffersonian again, but if I'm released, would you be able to help me locate a position that will challenge me?" he asked.

"Of course. I can already think of three projects that would benefit from your expertise."

Booth glanced over at the door and noted the guard standing by, looking incredibly impatient. "Bones, we need to wrap up."

"It was really good to see you."

Booth smiled. "Yeah, buddy. You came through for us."

Zack nodded proudly. "I did. I look forward to continued visits, if you're willing."

Brennan rose to her feet, rushing around the table and embracing Zack tightly. "You saved my life. Thank you, Zack."

"No contact with the prisoner!" the guard shouted, badging into the room.

"Sorry," Brennan called out. "My pain medication makes me hyperemotional."

Booth nodded, affirming her white lie. "See you around, Zack."

"Wait, Agent Booth. Can we talk privately?"

Brennan looked to him and Booth gestured for her to leave. "I won't be long."

Shrugging, she followed the guard into the corridor, moving to retrieve her belongings beyond the detectors. Checking through the contents of her purse, she noted a missed call from Cam on the display. She hit her voicemail button, ignoring the guard's protests.

_A case. A body_.

"Booth! We got one!"

His head poked out of the room. "At this time of night?"

"Cam says it's en route to the Jeffersonian. She'd like us there in a few hours to meet them."

"Okay, one sec," Booth said, popping back into the room.

"Booth!"

Brennan rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall. He was as impossible as ever. She loved him for it.

* * *

**10917127 Seconds**

_Riverside National Cemetery_

_Riverside, CA_

He stood in front of the grave marker for several minutes, quietly contemplating beneath the moonlight. There were some who feared graveyards in the night, but he had always found them strangely soothing. There was a serenity that came with surrounding oneself with the quiet presence of those no longer with the living. Their wisdom simply _was_, if one listened carefully.

He desperately needed wisdom now. He'd miscalculated in a devastating way this time. He couldn't afford any further mistakes, not if he intended to succeed. The lone wolf had attempted to play nice with the sheep, only to have them stupidly leap off a cliff. There was a fine line between attention and notoriety, and he'd been pushed over it against his will. It couldn't happen again.

He owed his uncle better than that.

He crouched down, tracing the letters on the stone, memorizing the feel of it beneath his fingertips. This was where it all began in earnest: a phone call and the bitter hindsight that came with unrelenting desire for knowledge and truth. Blood spilled, time and time again, while handshakes traded cash on the backs of the dead.

He could not stop, would not stop. He owed Colonel Daniel Pelant far better.

With a quick salute, Christopher Pelant retreated into the night, having received his desired counsel. _Patience_. _Surprise_. These were the keys. The Jeffersonian may have won the battle, but they sure as hell would never win this war.

* * *

The unease began as they swung into the Founding Fathers to kill time over fries and a drink. They'd chatted about Christine and Michael's rapport and their thoughts on Angela's belief in a future marriage. Booth was unhappy because he suspected he'd have to shoot Michael for touching his daughter before the age of eighteen, while she'd countered that he was hardly a virginal teen himself, never mind the fact that Billy Gibbons would show up and kill Booth, leaving her a single mother. She'd then pointed out the anthropological data that made such a gender bias ridiculous, certain that he wouldn't be so critical with Parker's choice of sexual activities before adulthood. Booth had tried to deflect, insisting he couldn't have as much influence due to Rebecca having primary custody, which somehow led to discussion of them having a son, which she'd outright declared a non-starter. She loved Christine dearly, but their relationship had essentially begun in earnest with impregnation and she now desired more freedom to sexually explore. By this point, Booth was crimson and fully embarrassed, and too distracted to notice her eating his fries as well as her own.

But beneath the surface of the laughter and discussion of social and sexual mores, she felt uncomfortable. Insecure, really. With every glance at the time indicating the team would be back at the lab soon with the remains, she felt her body tensing to where she felt pain in her shoulders and neck. It reached its peak just inside of the Jeffersonian's main doors and she ground to a halt, wincing as Booth slammed into her from behind.

"Bones! Warn a guy, will ya?"

"I'm afraid, Booth."

He pulled her gently to face him, puzzled by this declaration. "Afraid? Of what?"

"That I won't belong anymore. That I will no longer excel at my job."

"Of course you belong. Why would you think that?"

_Because I've changed. I'm not who I was when I last stood on that platform. Because I still fear that we are not solid, that you will leave me_. She did not speak of these things aloud. Instead, she shook her head and buried her face against his chest, inhaling his scent for comfort. She felt him kiss the top of her head and relaxed slightly. His touch was powerful. It always had been, ever since that first case.

"You're not alone. I'm with you, like always. Everyone is thrilled to have you back."

"Are you certain?" She glanced up nervously, relieved to see him smiling. He was her rock, her truth.

"This place doesn't work without us," he said. "They need us as much as we need them. We're the center, remember? You've been gone a long time, Bones."

"I know…"

"Ten million, nine hundred and seventeen thousand…" He glanced down at his watch and nodded. "Two hundred and seven seconds. That's far, far too long. It's time."

"Booth, how on earth did you—"

"I looked at my watch when I sat down on the church steps," he explained. "Zack cranked out the math for me."

"Is this why you were so particular on when we arrived tonight?"

"You think I'm redoing his math? Not a chance!"

Brennan grinned, pulling him in for a kiss. "You're a wonderful man."

"I know."

She shoved him lightly, rolling her eyes. "We have a case to solve."

"So let's go!"

The hesitation and doubts remained, mingled with the guilt for the hurt she'd caused all of her friends, let alone Booth. She pressed on anyway, her arm linked through Booth's for strength. She couldn't allow Pelant to take this from her. He'd taken so much from them already. Without her bones, who was she?

Drawing a deep breath, she stepped through the automatic glass doors, smiling as four sets of eyes immediately met hers.

"Let's get started..."

* * *

**_Whew! What a ride!  
_**

**_Let me take a moment to say thank you. Jumping into a new fandom is always a scary prospect, and this one is so supportive and fun. The reviews, PMs, chatter - it's all been a blast and made writing so very easy.  
_**

**_In particular, tremendous gratitude to: threesquares, NCISVILLE, FaithinBones, Megwill, petuniatc, Dyna63, SchwuppDiDupsi, OoopsAmObsessed, and damn, anyone I'm forgetting who's reviewed on the regular. You are all superstars!  
_**

**_I set out with a single goal: write something plausible that does not contradict any spoilers (through Comic-Con at least). I believe I've succeeded. How accurate am I? Not a clue! But I do know that science supports everything, as well as canon, so I'm happy to have created this ride. Is it September yet?  
_**

**_I'll be writing plenty more one-shots to prompts in the other 'story' and I'm plotting a case fic out (amusing - if you've read the fic set in Disney World, you know what to expect). If you're game for something non-Bones, I have a novel available! PM me if you need details. Otherwise, leave me that last shot of love. Tell me your favourite scenes from the entire fic, gush about B&B, whatever! It's a Bones party up in here.  
_**


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